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Egholm   and  his  God 


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Egholm  and  his 
God      .     .     .     . 

Translated    from   the    Danish    of 

Johannes  Buchholtz 

By    W.    W.     Worster 


New  York 

Alfred  •  A  •  Knopf 


1922 


EGHOLM    AND    HIS    GOD 


SIVERT  stands  leaning  his  elbows  on  the  window 
ledge,  digging  all  ten  fingers  into  his  curly  hair, 
and  looking  down  at  the  muddy  court  below. 

Not  a  soul. 

He  looks  at  the  wet  roofs,  and  the  raindrops 
splashing  tiny  rings  in  the  water  all  along  the  gutter. 

Not  so  much  as  a  sparrow  in  sight.  Only  the 
sullen  November  drizzle,  flung  now  and  then  into 
gusts,  and  whipping  the  panes  with  a  lash  of  rain. 

But  that  is  enough  for  Sivert.  He  looks  out  into 
the  grey  desolation,  highly  amused  at  it  all. 

Now  he  purses  up  his  lips  and  whispers  something, 
raises  his  eyebrows,  mutters  something  in  reply,  and 
giggles. 

Let  him,  for  Heaven's  sake,  as  long  as  he  can, 
thinks  his  mother. 

And  Sivert  finds  it  more  amusing  still.     Wonder- 
ful, so  much  there  is  going  on  inside  him.     He^shakes 
his  poodle  mop  of  hair,  and  gives  way  to  a  long-drawn, 
gasping  laugh— simply  can't  help  it — leans  his  fore- 
I 


2  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

head  against  the  pane,  thrusts  both  hands  suddenly 
deep  into  his  pockets,  and  gives  a  curious  wriggle. 

"  You  great  big  boy,  what's  the  matter  now  ?  " 
says  his  mother  gently. 

Sivert  turns  his  head  away  and  answers  with  an 
evasive  laugh  : 

''  All  that  rain  ...  it  tickles  so." 

Fru  Egholm  does  not  question  him  again  ;  for  a 
moment  she  really  feels  as  if  the  boy  were  right. 
And,  anyhow,  it  would  be  no  use  asking  him.  If  only 
he  can  find  his  little  pleasure  in  it,  so  much  the  better. 

And  there's  no  saying  how  long  .  .  .  Egholm  had 
said  it  was  time  the  boy  found  something  to  do,  now 
he  was  confirmed.  Find  him  a  place  at  once.  And 
Sivert,  poor  weakly  lad — how  would  it  go  with 
him  ? 

Fru  Egholm  shakes  her  head,  and  sends  a  loving 
glance  at  the  boy,  who  is  plainly  busy  in  his  mind  with 
something  new  and  splendid. 

Then  suddenly  his  face  changes,  as  if  at  the  touch 
of  death  itself.  His  eyes  grow  dull,  his  jaw  drops ; 
the  childish  features  with  their  prematurely  aged 
look  arc  furrowed  with  dread  as  he  stares  down  at 
something  below. 

"  Is  it  Father  ?  "  she  whispers  breathlessly. 
"  Back  already  ?  " 

She  lays  down  her  sewing  and  hurries  to  the 
window  ;  mother  and  son  stand  watching  with 
frightened  eyes  each  movement  of  the  figure  below. 


EGHOI,M  AND  HIS  GOD  3 

Egholm  walks  up  from  the  gate,  lithe  and  erect, 
just  as  in  the  old  days  when  he  came  home  from  the 
office.  But  at  every  step  his  knees  give  under  him, 
he  stumbles,  and  his  wet  cloak  hangs  uncomfortably 
about  him.  At  last  he  comes  to  a  standstill,  heedless 
of  the  fact  that  his  broad  boots  are  deep  in  a  puddle 
of  water. 

Once  he  looks  up,  and  Sivcrt  and  his  mother  hold 
their  breath.  But  the  flower-pots  in  the  window 
hide  them.  His  head  droops  forward,  he  stands 
there  still.  A  little  after,  they  see  him  trudging 
along  close  to  the  wall,  past  his  own  door. 

The  watchers  stand  on  tiptoe,  pressing  their 
temples  against  the  cold  glass,  straining  to  see  what 
next. 

Egholm  stops  at  the  Eriksens'  gate,  glances  round, 
and  kneels. 

Kneels  down  full  in  the  mire,  while  the  gale 
flings  the  cape  of  his  ulster  over  his  head.  Now  he 
snatches  off  his  hat  and  crushes  it  in  his  lingers  ;  his 
bald  head  looks  queerly  oblong,  like  a  pumpkin,  seen 
from  above. 

*'  He's  praying  !  " 

And  the  two  at  the  window  shudder,  as  if  they 
were  witnessing  some  dreadful  deed. 

"  Where  am  I  to  hide  ?  "  blubbers  Sivcrt. 

The  mother  pulls  herself  together — she  must  find 
strength  for  two. 

"  You  need  not  hide  to-day.     Take  your  little 


4  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

saw  and  be  doing  some  work.     You'll  see,  it  will  be 
all  right  to-day." 

"  But  suppose  he  counts  the  money  ?  " 

"  Oh,  heaven  .  .  .  !  " 

"  Hadn't  we  better  tell  him  at  once  ?  Shout  out 
and  tell  him  as  soon  as  he  comes  in,  and  say  Hedvig 
took  it  ? " 

"  No,  no." 

"  Or  go  and  kill  ourselves  .?  " 

"  No,  no.  Sit  still,  Sivert  dear,  and  don't  say  a 
word.  Maybe  God  will  help  us.  We  might  put 
something  over  the  bowl  .  .  .  no.  Better  leave  it 
as  it  is." 

Heavy  steps  on  the  stairs  outside.  Egholm  walks 
in,  strong  and  erect  again  now. 

He  hangs  up  his  wet  things,  and  fumbles  with  a 
pair  of  sodden  cuffs. 

"  Didn't  get  a  place,  I  suppose  ?  "  asks  his  wife, 
looking  up  from  the  machine.  Sivert  sits  obediently 
at  a  little  table  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room. 

"  Is  it  likely  ?  "  Egholm's  face  is  that  of  one 
suffering  intensely.  And  he  speaks  in  an  injured 
tone. 

"  I  only  thought  .  .  .  You're  home  earlier  than 
usual." 

No  answer.  Egholm  walks  over  to  the  window 
and  stares  into  the  greyness  without,  his  long,  thin 
fingers  pulling  now^and  again  at  his  dark  beard. 

Lost  in  thought  .  .  . 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  5 

His  wife  does  not  venture  to  disturb  him,  though 
he  is  shutting  out  the  fading  light.  She  keeps  the 
machine  audibly  in  motion,  making  pretence  of 
work. 

A  long,  long  time  he  stands  there.  Sivert  has  been 
sawing  away  conscientiously  all  the  time,  but  at  last  he 
can  bear  it  no  longer,  and  utters  a  loud  sigh.  Fru 
Egholm  reaches  stealthily  for  the  matches,  and  lights 
the  lamp.     Her  fingers  tremble  as  she  lifts  the  glass. 

Egholm  turns  at  the  sound.  And  now  he  is  no 
longer  Egholm  the  upright,  nor  Egholm  the  abject  ; 
Egholm  the  Great  he  is  now.  His  eyes  glow  like 
windows  in  a  burning  house  ;  he  stands  there  filling 
the  room  with  Egholm  ;  Egholm  the  invincible. 
The  mother  cowers  behind  her  sewing-machine  ;  and 
her  seam  runs  somewhat  awry. 

What  terrible  thing  can  he  be  thinking  of  now  ? 
The  "  Sect,"  as  usual  ? — Heaven  have  mercy  on 
them,  now  that  Egholm  has  joined  the  Brother- 
hood. 

Surely  something  terrible  must  happen  soon  ;  he 
has  rarely  been  as  bad  as  this  before. 

He  moves,  and  his  wife  looks  up  with  a  start. 
But  now  he  has  changed  again,  to  something  less 
terrible  now — not  quite  so  deadly  terrible  as  before. 

He  is  far  away  in  his  dreamings  now,  without  a 
thought  for  his  earthbound  fellow-creatures. 

He  stands  in  his  favourite  attitude,  with  one 
hand  on  his  hip,  as  if  posing  to  a  sculptor.     A  fine 


6  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

figure  of  a  man.  His  watch-chain  hangs  in  a  golden 
arc  irom  one  waistcoat  pocket  to  the  other.  Only- 
one  who  knew  of  the  fact  would  ever  notice  that 
one  of  the  oval  links  is  missing,  and  a  piece  of  string 
tied  in  its  place. 

After  a  little  he  begins  walking  up  and  down,  stop- 
ping now  and  again  at  the  window,  with  a  gesture  of 
the  hand,  as  if  addressing  an  assembly  without. 

Then  suddenly  he  swings  round,  facing  his  wife, 
and  utters  these  words  : 

"  Now  I  know  what  it  means.     At  last  !  " 

Fru  Egholm  checks  the  wheel  of  hei  machine,  and 
looks  up  at  him  with  leaden-grey,  shadow-fringed 
eyes.  But  he  says  no  more,  and  she  sets  the  machine 
whirring  once  more. 

Peace  for  a  little  while  longer,  at  any  rate,  she 
thinks  to  herself. 

Sivert  looks  up  stealthily  every  time  his  father 
turns  his  back ;  the  boy  is  flushed  with  repressed 
excitement,  the  tip  of  his  tongue  keeps  creeping 
out. 

"  Mark  you,"  says  Egholm  after  a  long  pause, 
"  I'm  wiser  perhaps — a  good  deal  wiser — than  you 
take  me  for." 

He  throws  out  his  chest  with  conscious  dignity, 
lifting  his  head,  and  placing  one  hand  on  his  hip  as 
before. 

Oh,  so  he's  still  thinking  of  that  quarrel  of  theirs 
this   morning.     Well,   well,   of   course   it   would   be 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  7 

something  to  do  with  the  Brotherhood  some  way  or 
other. 

"  You  said  I  was  wasting  my  time." 

"  I  didn't  say  that." 

"  You  said  I  was  throwing  money  out  of  the 
window." 

Fru  Egholm  shifts  in  her  seat,  puUing  nervously 
at  her  work.  She  would  like  to  mitigate  the  sharp- 
ness of  her  words,  and  yet,  if  possible,  stand  by  what 
she  had  said. 

Sivert  wakes  to  the  fact  that  he  is  dribbHng  down 
over  his  hand,  and  sniffs  up  hastily. 

"  Didn't  you  say  it  was  throwing  money  out  of 
the  window  ?  " 

"  I  said,  it  was  hard  taking  money  where  there 
was  none." 

"  You  said  it  was  throwing  money  away.  But  do 
you  know  what  I'm  doing  with  that  money  all  the 
time  ?     I'm  putting  it  in  the  bank." 

''  In  the  bank  ?  .  .  ." 

"  In  the  Bank  of  Heaven — where  the  interest  is  a 
thousand — nay,  tens  of  thousands — per  cent.  !  If  it 
wasn't  for  that,  I'd  never  have  thought  of  joining  the 
Brotherhood  at  all." 

"  But — 'I  can't  help  it,  but  I  don't  believe  in 
him,  that  Evangelist  man.  Young  Karlsen,  I 
mean." 

Egholm  breathed  sharply,  and  quickened  his 
steps.     The  answer  did  not  please  nim. 


8  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

"  You  talk  about  young  Karlscn  :  I  am  talking  of 
Holy  Writ." 

"  But  it  was  Karlsen  that  .  .  ." 

"  Yes,  and  I  shall  thank  him  for  it  till  my  dying 
day.  He  it  was  that  opened  my  eyes,  and  showed 
me  I  was  living  the  life  of  one  accursed  ;  pointed  out 
the  goal  I  can  reach — cannot  fail  to  reach — if  only 
I  will  pay  my  tithe.  Do  you  know  what  it  says  in 
Malachi  ?  Shall  I  give  you  the  words  of  Malachi 
the  Prophet  ?  " 

"Ye— es  ...  if  you  please,"  answers  his  wife 
confusedly. 

"  Yes  ...  if  you  please,"  echoes  Sivert  in  pre- 
cisely the  same  tone.  He  has  a  painful  habit  of  taking 
up  his  mother's  words  when  anything  excites  him. 

But  Egholm  had  no  time  now  to  punish  the 
interruption ;  he  stood  forth  and  spoke,  with 
threatening  sternness  : 

"  '  Will  a  man  rob  God  F  Tet  ye  have  robbed  me. 
But  ye  say^  Wherein  have  we  robbed  thee  ?  In  tithes 
and  offerings.'' 

"  '  Te  are  cursed  with  a  curse.  .  .  .' 

"  Cursed  !  "  Egholm  struck  the  table  with  his 
fist  in  condemnation.  Do  you  hear  ?  They  are 
accursed  who  would  rob  the  Lord — in  tithes  and 
offerings  !  " 

"  It's  solemn  hard  words,"  said  the  mother,  with 
a  sigh. 

"  No  harder  than  it  should  be.     Just  and  right  !  " 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  9 

"  I  was  only  thinking — the  New  Testament — 
perhaps  there  might  be  something  there  to  make  it 
easier." 

"  Make  it  easier  !  God's  Law  to  be  made 
easier !  Are  you  utterly  lost  in  sin,  woman  ?  Or 
do  you  think  I  would  tamper  with  the  Holy  Scrip- 
tures ?     Read  for  yourself — there  !  " 

He  snatched  the  old  Bible  from  its  shelf  and  flung 
it  down  on  the  sewing-machine.  Fru  Egholm  looked 
at  the  thick,  heavy  tome  with  something  like  fear  in 
her  eyes. 

"  I  only  meant  ...  if  it  was  really  God's  will 
that  we  should  starve  to  find  that  money  for 
Karlsen." 

"  Starve — and  what's  a  trifle  of  starvation  when 
the  reward's  so  much  the  greater  ?  What  does  it  say 
there,  only  a  little  farther  on  :  '  Prove  me  now  here- 
with^ saith  the  Lord  oj  Hosts,  ij  1  will  not  open  you  the 
windows  of  heaven,  and  pour  you  out  a  hlessi^ig,  that 
there  shall  not  he  room  enough  to  receive  it '  ? 

"  Isn't  that  a  glorious  promise  ?  Perhaps  the 
finest  in  the  whole  Bible.  Are  you  so  destitute  of 
imagination  that  you  cannot  see  the  Lord  opening 
the  windows  of  heaven,  and  the  money  pouring  out 
like  a  waterfall,  like  a  rainbow,  over  us  poor  worms 
that  have  not  room  enough  to  receive  it  ?  " 

"  Money  ? — but  it  doesn't  say  anything  about 
money." 

"  Yes,  it  does — if  you  read  it  aright.     It's  there 


lo  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

all  right,  only  " — Egholm  drew  his  lips  back  a  little, 
baring  his  teeth — "  only,  of  course,  it  needs  a  little 
sense  in  one's  head  to  read  the  Bible,  just  as  any 
other  book.  It  wasn't  all  quite  easy  to  me  at 
first,  but  now  I  understand  it  to  the  full.  There's 
not  a  shadow  of  doubt,  but  the  Bible  means  ready 
money.  What  else  could  it  be  ?  The  blessing  of  the 
Lord,  you  say.  Well,  there's  more  than  one  of  the 
Brethren  in  the  congregation  thinks  the  same — and 
that's  what  makes  them  slow  in  paying  up  their 
tithes  and  offerings.  They  think  the  blessing  is  just 
something  supernatural ;  an  inner  feeling  of  content 
— fools'  nonsense  !  Do  you  suppose  I  could  be 
content,  with  duns  and  creditors  tearing  at  me  like 
dogs  about  a  carcase  ?  No  ;  ready  money,  that's 
what  it  means.  Money  we  give,  and  money  shall  be 
given  unto  us  in  return  ;  we  shall  receive  our  own 
with  usury,  as  it  is  written." 

"  Do  you  really  mean  .  .  ." 

Egholm  grasped  eagerly  at  the  hint  of  admission 
that  he  fancied  lay  behind  her  doubt.  He  strode  to 
the  chest  of  drawers,  and,  picking  up  the  crystal 
bowl,  held  it  out  towards  the  light  as  it  raising  it  in 
salutation.  The  tithe-money  showed  like  some  dark 
wine  at  the  bottom. 

"  I  swear  unto  you,"  he  said,  with  great  solemnity, 
"  it  is  even  so." 

Fru  Egholm  meets  his  burning  glance,  and  is 
confused. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  ii 

"  It  would  be  a  grand  thing,  sure  enough,  if  we 
could  come  by  a  little  money."     And  she  sighs. 

"  But  it's  not  a  little,"  says  Egholm.  The  im- 
pression he  has  made  on  her  is  reacting  now  with 
added  force  upon  himself.  "  Not  altogether  Httle ; 
no.  I  can  feel  it  ;  there  is  a  change  about  to  come. 
And  a  change,  with  me,  must  be  a  change  for  the 
better.  It  means  I  am  to  be  exalted.  '  Friend, 
come  up  higher  !  '  " 

Again  he  strides  up  and  down,  seeking  an  outlet 
for  his  emotion.  He  sets  down  the  bowl,  and  picks 
up  the  Bible  instead,  presses  the  book  to  his  breast, 
and  slaps  its  wooden  cover,  shaking  out  a  puff  of 
worm-eaten  dust. 

"  Beautiful  book,"  he  says  tenderly — "  beautiful 
old  book.  By  thee  I  live,  and  am  one  with  thee  !  " 
And,  turning  to  his  wife,  he  goes  on  :  "  After  all,  it's 
simple  enough.  If  I  do  my  duty  by  God,  He's  got 
to  do  His  by  me,  and  I'd  like  to  see  how  He  can  get 
out  of  it." 

There  was  a  rattle  ot  the  door  below.  Fru 
Egholm  listened  .  .  .  yes,  it  was  Hedvig,  coming 
back  from  her  work.  There — wiping  her  boots  on 
Eriksens'  mat,  the  very  thing  she'd  been  strictly  for- 
bidden. And  dashing  upstairs  three  steps  at  a  time 
and  whistling  Hke  a  boy.     No  mistaking  Hedvig. 

Fru  Egholm  signed  covertly  to  Sivert  to  go  out 
in  the  kitchen.  She  could  give  the  children  their  food 
there,  without  being  noticed.     What  you  don't  hear 


12  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

you  don't  fear,  as  the  saying  goes.  And  that  was  true 
of  Eghohn  ;  it  always  irritated  him  when  Sivert  made 
a  noise  over  his  food.  Poor  child — a  good  thing  he'd 
the  heart  to  eat  and  enjoy  it. 

Hedvig  came  tumbling  in,  with  a  clatter  of  wooden 
shoes. 

"  Puh,  what  a  mess  !  I'm  drenched  to  the  skin. 
Look  !  "  She  ducked  forward,  sending  a  stream  of 
water  from  the  brim  of  her  hat.  Her  hair,  in  two 
heavy  yellow  plaits,  slipped  round  on  either  side,  the 
ends  touching  the  floor  ;  then  with  a  toss  of  her  head 
she  threw  it  back,  and  stood  there  laughing,  in  the 
full  glare  of  the  lamp. 

Glittering  white  teeth  and  golden  eyelashes. 
The  freckles  round  her  nose  gave  a  touch  of  boyish- 
ness to  her  face. 

"  My  dear  child,  what  can  we  give  you  to  put 
on  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'll  find  some  dry  stockings — there's  a  pair 
of  mine  in  the  settee." 

"  Sivert  borrowed  those,  dear,  last  Sunday,  you 
know.  But  you  can  ask  him — he's  outside  in  the 
kitchen." 

Egholm,  too,  must  have  his  meal.  He  had  a 
ravenous  appetite.  The  pile  of  bread  and  dripping 
vanished  from  his  plate  as  a  cloud  passes  from  the 
face  of  the  moon.  Possibly  because  he  was  reading, 
as  he  ate,  of  the  land  of  Canaan,  a  land  flowing  with 
milk  and  honey. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  13 

The  rain  spattered  unceasingly  against  the  panes. 

"  What  are  you  hanging  about  here  for  ?  "  asked 
Hedvig.  Sivert  was  standing  huddled  up  by  the 
sink. 

"  He'll  find  out  in  a  minute,"  whispered  the 
boy.  "  He's  waving  his  arms  and  legs  about,  and 
talking  all  about  money." 

"  Puh — let  him.  We  must  eat,  so  there's  an  end 
of  it.  He'll  have  forgotten  by  to-morrow  how  much 
there  was." 

"  But  he'll  count  it  to-night.  He's  going  to  the 
meeting." 

"  To-night — h'm.  That's  a  nasty  one,"  said 
Hedvig  thoughtfully. 

Sivert  showed  a  strange  reluctance  to  hand  over 
the  stockings. 

"  They've  been  confirmed,"  he  explained.  "  I 
wore  them  last  Sunday.  You  can't  have  them  back 
now  after  they've  been  to  my  confirmation.  It's  a 
great  honour." 

"  You  take  them  off,  and  that  sharp  !  You  can 
see  mine  are  wet  through." 

"  Mine  are  .  .  .  they're  wet,  too." 

"  Wet,  too  ?    Why,  what  have  you  been  doing  ?  " 

"  I — I  couldn't  help  it,"  snivelled  Sivert  shame- 
facedly. "  It  came  of  itself,  when  Father  took  the 
bowl.  .  .  ." 

Hedvig  drew  away  from  him,  turning  up  her 
nose  in  disgust. 


14  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

"  Ugh  !     You  baby  !  " 

"  Mother  !  Is  she  to  call  me  a  baby  now  I'm 
grown  up  and  confirmed  ?  " 

"  Hold  your  noise,  out  there  !  "  cried  his  father. 
"  Run  down  to  Eriksens'  and  ask  the  time." 

Sivert  hurried  away,  and  brought  back  word : 
half-past  seven. 

"  I  must  be  off,"  said  Egholm,  with  an  air  of 
importance. 

Mother  and  children  looked  with  a  shiver  of 
dread  towards  the  cut-glass  bowl.  But  Egholm  was 
quietly  putting  on  his  still  dripping  coat,  looking  at 
himself  in  the  glass,  as  he  always  did.  It  was  a  game 
of  blind  man's  buff,  where  all  save  the  blind  m.an 
know  how  near  the  culprit  stands. 

"  Leave  out  the  key,  Anna,  if  I'm  not  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  I'll  be  waiting  up  all  right." 

"  Well,  if  you  like."  Egholm  moved  to  the 
door  ;  he  grasped  the  handle.  A  flicker  of  hope 
went  through  them  ;  he  had  forgotten  his  tithe 
and  offering.  To-morrow  it  wouldn't  matter  so 
much.  .  .  . 

But  Egholm  stood  there  still,  pulling  at  his 
beard,  straining  himself  to  think.  .  .  . 

"  Ah — I  mustn't  forget  the  chiefest  of  all." 

In  the  midst  of  a  ghastly  silence  he  took  the  bowl 
from  its  place,  shook  out  the  little  heap  of  coppers, 
and  with  a  satisfied  air  stacked  them  up  in  orderly 
piles,    ready    to   count.     He    counted   all    through, 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  15 

counted  over  again,  and  moved  the  piles  in  different 
order,  pulled  at  his  beard,  and  glowered.  The 
mother  kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  her  work,  but  the 
children  were  staring,  staring  at  their  father's  hands. 

"  How  much  was  it  he  lent  us  on  the  clock  last 
time  ?     Three  kroner,  surely  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  think  it  was  three,"  said  Fru  Egholm, 
trying  her  hardest  to  speak  naturally. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? — '  you  think  it  was  !  '  " 
Her  husband  rose  to  his  feet  with  a  threatening 
mien. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  remember  now.  It  was  three 
kroner.^'^ 

"  And  did  you  put  the  thirty-ore  tithe  in  the  bowl, 
as  I  ordered  ?  " 

Fru  Egholm  felt  instinctively  that  it  would  be 
best  to  insist  that  the  money  had  been  put  in  the 
bowl.  But  another  and  stronger  instinct  led  her 
at  this  most  unfortunate  moment  to  hold  forth  in 
protest  against  the  giving  of  tithes  at  all,  and  more 
especially  tithe  of  moneys  received  on  pawned 
effects.  And  very  soon  she  had  floundered  into  a 
slough  of  argument  that  led  no  way  at  all. 

Egholm  strode  fuming  up  and  down  the  room. 

"  You  didn't  put  it  in  at  all." 

"  I  did.     To  the  last  ore.'' 

Now  this  was  perfectly  true.  The  money  had 
been  put  in.  .  .   . 

"  Then  you  must  have  stolen  it  again  after." 


i6  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

"  God  wouldn't  have  it,  I  know.  It's  blood 
money." 

"  Wouldn't  He  ?  He  shall— I'll  see  that  He 
does  !  You've  stolen  money  from  the  Lord !  What 
have  you  done  with  it  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  think  we  should  do  with  it  ? " 

"  Who's  been  out  buying  things  ?  "  he  thundered, 
turning  to  the  children. 

"  It  wasn't  me — not  quite,"  said  Sivert,  with  one 
thumb  deep  in  his  mouth. 

"  That  means  it  was  you,  you  little  whelp.  What 
did  you  buy  with  the  money  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  buy  two  eggs."  Sivert  was  steadfastly 
pleading  not  guilty. 

Egholm  called  to  mind  that  he  had  had  an  egg 
with  his  dinner.  The  depth  of  villainy  was  clear 
and  plain. 

Fru  Egholm  could  hold  out  no  longer.  "  I — 
I  thought  you  needed  something  strengthening, 
Egholm  ;  you've  been  looking  so  poorly.  And  I 
took  out  the  thirty  ere  again  and  bought  two  eggs. 
One  you  had,  and  one  I  gave  the  children.  They 
need  it,  too,  poor  dears." 

Egholm  felt  his  brain  seething  ;  he  gripped  his 
head  with  both  hands,  as  if  fearing  it  might  burst. 
Every  nerve  seemed  to  shudder  as  at  the  touch  of 
glowing  iron. 

"  Te  are  cursed  with  a  cursed  he  said  in  a  hollow 
voice. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  17 

"  Egholm,  do  be  calm.  .  .  ."  But  his  wife's 
well-meaning  effort  only  made  him  the  more  furious. 
He  picked  up  his  stick  and  struck  the  table  with  a 
crash. 

"  You  should  be  struck  down  and  smitten  to 
earth — you  have  brought  a  curse  upon  my  house  !  " 

"  Egholm,  do  be  careful.  It's  not  for  my  own 
sake  I  say  it,  but  remember  the  state  I'm  in.  .  .  ." 

"  What  have  I  to  do  with  the  state  you're  in  ?  "  he 
thundered  inconsequently,  but  laid  down  his  stick. 
"  Out  with  the  money  this  minute !  Do  you  hear  ? 
The  money,  the  money  you  took  !  " 

"  But  you  know  yourself  we  used  all  we  had  for 
the  rent,  or  I  wouldn't  have  touched  the  other.  I 
can't  dig  up  money  out  of  the  ground." 

"  Then  give  me  the  silver  spoon." 

This  was  a  little  child's  spoon,  worn  thin,  and 
bearing  the  date  of  Fru  Egholm's  christening. 

"  Take  it,  then,"  she  said,  weeping. 

The  children  had  been  looking  on  with  frightened 
eyes.  Sivert,  in  his  contusion,  now  began  sawing 
again. 

"  What — you  dare — at  such  a  time  !  Stop  that 
at  once  !  "  cried  his  father.  And  by  way  of  securing 
immediate  obedience,  he  twined  his  fingers  in  the  boy's 
hair  and  dragged  him  backwards  out  of  his  chair,  till 
his  wooden  shoes  rattled  against  the  flap  of  the  table. 

Fru  Egholm  sprang  towards  them  ;   the  linen  she 
was  at  work  on  tore  with  a  scream. 
2 


i8  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

"  For  Heaven's  sake  !  "  she  cried  desperately, 
picking  up  the  boy  in  her  arms. 

*'  Give  me  the  spoon  and  let's  have  no  more 
nonsense,"  said  Egholm,  and  strode  out.  The  three 
stood  listening,  as  to  the  echoes  of  retreating  thunder. 
First  the  slam  of  the  door  below,  then  the  heavier 
clang  of  the  gate  across  the  yard. 

"  O— oh  !  "  said  Hedvig,  "  he  ought  to  be 
thrashed !  "  And  she  drew  a  deep  breath,  as  of 
cleaner  air. 

"  Don't  speak  like  that,  child.  After  all,  he's 
your  father." 


II 


EGHOLM  descended  the  stairs,  each  step 
carrying  him  so  much  farther  down  from 
the  heights  of  his  rage.  By  the  time  he  had 
crossed  the  stone  paving,  and  let  the  street  door 
clang  behind  him,  he  was  as  gentle  as  any  hermit  of 
the  dale. 

A  gust  of  wind  sent  him  staggering  over  to  the 
outflow  of  a  gutter  pipe,  which  greeted  him  with  an 
icy  shower  ;  he  took  it  as  one  might  take  the  jest  of 
a  friend.  What  matter,  either,  that  the  same  wind 
thrust  a  chilly  feeler  in  under  his  collar,  right  down 
to  the  armhole,  or  slapped  him  flat-handed  on  the 
mouth  and  left  him  breathless  ?  He  was  not  moved 
to  anger  when  the  streams  and  puddles  he  was  wading 
through  followed  the  law  of  nature  and  filled  his 
leaky  boots  within  to  the  level  of  the  waters  without. 
Meekly  he  pressed  his  hat  more  firmly  down,  bowed 
his  head  submissively,  and  walked  in  all  humihty 
close  to  the  house  walls,  lest  he  should  hinder  the 
wind  in  its  task. 

The  tumult  within  him  had  subsided,  leaving  no 
more  than  the  ordinary  eagerness  of  a  man  in  a  hurry 
— a  man  intent  on  getting  to  a  meeting  in  good  time. 


20  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

Street  after  street,  with  the  same  wet  breath  in 
his  face.  He  crossed  over  Vestergade,  where  the 
shop  windows  flared  in  a  row  on  either  side,  and  a 
carriage  on  its  way  to  the  theatre  nearly  knocked 
him  down.  Then  he  burrowed  once  more  into  the 
side  streets,  emerging  at  last,  by  way  of  a  narrow 
passage,  into  a  yard,  where  lights  were  burning  in 
the  windows  of  a  stable — a  stable  converted,  being 
now  the  hall  and  meeting-place  of  the  Brethren  of 
St.  John. 

The  unlighted  entry  gave  out  a  thick  smell  of 
mildew  and  plaster.  Egholm  felt  a  childish  nervous- 
ness as  he  realised  that  the  meeting  had  already 
begun.  He  smoothed  his  wreath  of  hair,  and  wiped 
the  water  from  his  face  with  his  cape  ;  then,  fumbling 
for  the  handle  of  the  door,  he  walked  in. 

The  hall  was  half-full  of  people  ;  young  Karlsen 
was  standing  on  the  stage,  delivering  a  sort  of  homily. 
This  was  young  Karlsen's  usual  opening,  designed  to 
pass  the  time  until  old  Karlsen  could  get  away  from 
the  shop.  Everybody  knew  it,  and  all  bore  it 
patiently,  excepting  young  Karlsen  himself,  who 
longed  most  earnestly  for  the  hour  of  his  deliver- 
ance. 

At  the  sound  of  the  door,  he  stooped  and  bent 
forward,  trying  to  see  beneath  the  lamps  and  make 
out  who  had  come  in.  But  he  made  no  pause  in  his 
sermon  ;  only,  his  delivery  became  somewhat  strained 
and  disconnected. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  21 

When  the  bald  top  of  Egholm's  head  caught  the 
light,  however,  he  drew  back  with  a  jerk  of  dis- 
appointment, yawned,  thrust  his  hands  resignedly 
into  his  pockets,  and  went  on  : 

"  Consequently,  my  dear  friends,  as  I  have 
said " 

Egholm  stepped  softly  to  a  rickety  seat,  and 
sheltered  himself  behind  Fru  Laursen's  ample  figure. 

The  hall  was  not  large,  but  all  were  heartily  wel- 
come there.  On  Saturdays  and  Sundays  its  rotten 
floor-boards  shook  beneath  the  feet  of  factory  girls, 
with  high  wooden  heels,  and  lads  from  the  slaughter- 
house, with  neckties  slipping  up  at  the  back.  Both 
parties  sweated  profusely  as  they  danced,  and  mine 
host  from  the  dramshop  across  the  courtyard  sat  on 
an  upturned  box  next  the  door  uncorking  bottled 
beer. 

On  Wednesdays,  from  six  to  eight,  a  drill  sergeant 
fumed  over  a  class  of  unpromising  pupils  from  the 
Peasant  Welfare  Schools,  who  walked,  and  on  the 
toes  rose,  and  from  the  hips  bent,  as  they  were  told, 
yet  never  managing  to  attain  that  explosive  ela^i 
which  alone  maketh  the  heart  of  a  drill  sergeant  to 
rejoice. 

When  the  Brethren  of  St.  John  arrived  at  eight, 
the  air  would  be  foggy  with  chalk  precipitated  in 
the  sweat  of  peasant  brows ;  it  might  even  happen 
that  the  "  last  four  "  were  still  gaspingly  at  work 
dragging  the  vaulting-horse  back  into  place. 


22  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

For  three  hours,  no  more,  the  congregation  of 
Brethren  held  the  hall  in  peace  ;  a  few  minutes 
past  eleven,  and  figures  uncouthly  garbed  thrust  pale 
but  insistent  faces  in  at  the  door.  These  were  the 
Histrionics — the  Amateur  Dramatic  Society  of  the 
Trade  and  Commercial  Assistants'  Union,  who  with 
true  business  talent  had  chosen  Wednesday  for  their 
rehearsals,  in  order  to  enjoy  the  warmth  provided 
beforehand  by  the  Brethren.  They  were  not  in- 
terested in  other  of  the  Brethren's  manifestations. 
Any  extension  of  the  service  or  proceedings  beyond 
time  limit  would  be  greeted  with  whistlings,  cat- 
calls, and  slamming  of  doors — while  nothing  could 
exceed  the  eager  politeness  with  which  the  waiting 
Histrionics  made  way  for  the  Brethren  as  they  left. 

The  hall  was  further  used  as  an  auction  room. 
Egholm  was  often  present  on  such  occasions ;  he 
had  an  inclination  towards  the  feverish  excitement 
of  the  hammer. 

Karlsen  was  still  on  his  feet. 

Egholm  let  his  glance  wander  absently  from  the 
ropes  and  trapeze  to  the  ragged  fringe  of  the  stage 
curtain,  that  waved  in  the  draught  like  the  fin  of  a 
fish. 

He  was  not  an  attentive  listener  ;  he  freely  ad- 
mitted that,  when  he  came  to  the  meetings,  it  was 
not  so  much  to  hear  the  edifying  speeches  of  the 
"  Evangelist,"  as  because  the  door  to  the  treasury 
of  the  Lord  was  here  to  be  found.     And  the  depth 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  23 

of  faith  in  his  heart — that  was  the  key.  .  .  .  With  a 
sudden  impulse,  he  felt  in  his  pocket  for  the  tithe- 
money.     Yes,  thank  Heaven,  it  was  there. 

Karlsen  was  taking  an  unpardonable  time  about 
it  this  evening.  There  was  an  ever-recurring  phrase 
he  used  :  *'  Dearfriendsy  He  used  it  like  the  knots 
in  the  climbing-rope  that  hung  from  the  ceiling,  as 
something  to  rest  on  by  the  way.  And  there  was 
often  quite  an  appreciable  pause  before  he  could  spit 
on  his  hands  and  go  on.  It  was  plain  to  see  that  his 
speech  would  never  carry  him  beyond  the  roof,  but, 
for  all  that,  his  face,  bluely  unshaven,  and  furrowed 
with  intercrossing  wrinkles,  showed  a  degree  of 
cunning  as  if  he  were  solving  a  difficult  problem,  or 
recounting  the  details  of  a  complicated  business 
manoeuvre. 

Egholm  knew  that  Karlsen  had  been  a  travelling 
pedlar  selling  woollen  goods  from  his  pack  along  the 
roads,  before  he  turned  Evangelist.  And  in  some 
ways,  the  tricks  of  his  old  trade  clung  to  him  yet.  He 
would  hand  out  eternal  truths  as  if  it  were  a  pair 
of  flannel  unmentionables — pure  wool,  unshrinkable, 
everlasting  wear.  .  .  . 

Having  nothing  now  with  which  to  occupy  his 
hands,  the  Evangelist  thrust  them  in  his  pockets  and 
gesticulated  with  them  under  cover  there.  Now  he 
would  clench  his  fist,  till  the  pocket  bulged  as  if 
with  a  heavy  revolver  ;  now  he  would  draw  out  his 
breeches   sideways    like   a    concertina.      And  in  the 


24  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

pauses  he  could  be  seen  to  scratch  himself  assiduously, 
first  with  one  hand,  then  with  the  other. 

At  last — at  last  he  came  to  an  end,  and  led  the 
singing  from  a  little  thin  book. 

The  congregation  livened  up  a  little,  with  a  clear- 
ing of  throats  and  shifting  in  seats.  Half-way  through 
the  hymn,  the  door  was  heard.  The  Evangelist 
ducked  down  again  to  look,  and  when  suddenly  he 
pulled  his  hands  out  of  his  pockets,  all  knew  who  it 
was  that  had  arrived. 

Old  Karlsen,  the  Evangelist's  father,  was  the  eldest 
of  the  flock,  and  holder  of  its  highest  dignity — that 
of  Angel. 

Also,  apart  from  his  connection  with  the  Brethren, 
proprietor  of  a  very  paying  little  ironmongery 
business. 

Slowly  he  strode  through  the  hall ;  the  singing 
faces  turned  towards  him  as  he  came.  His  black 
clothes  gave  him  an  air  of  distinction  ;  his  silvery  hair 
and  prophet's  beard  were  outward  and  visible  signs  of 
holiness.  It  would  be  hard  to  imagine  a  figure  more 
suited  in  its  dignity  to  the  weighty  name  of  Angel. 

The  only  access  to  the  stage  was  by  way  of  three 
beer  cases  set  stairwise  to  its  edge.  But  under  the 
footsteps  of  the  prophet  they  were  transformed  to 
golden  steps  of  a  ladder  leading  heavenward. 

Young  Karlsen  murmured  a  few  words,  glanced 
at  his  watch,  and  disappeared  like  one  cast  forth  as 
unworthy.     And  old  Karlsen  prayed  with  his  earnest, 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  25 

almost  tearful  voice  for  the  welfare  of  the  con- 
gregation. 

Egholm  was  thrilled.  This — this  was  surely 
communion  with  the  Lord. 

The  eyes  of  the  prophet  shone  in  the  glare  from 
the  footlights — or  perhaps  it  was  rather  that  he  saw 
God,  as  it  had  been  promised  to  the  pure  in  heart. 

There  came  a  sound  of  weeping  from  behind  ; 
Egholm  turned  to  see.  It  was  Lystrup,  the  cobbler. 
His  flat,  brown  fingers  clutched  and  curled  con- 
vulsively, and  his  bony  head,  with  the  queer  feathery 
hair,  rocked  to  and  fro,  as  he  wept  and  moaned, 
without  covering  his  face. 

The  cobbler's  emotion  spread  to  those  around. 
Within  a  second  it  had  reached  the  hindmost  bench, 
where  the  old  women  from  the  almshouses  sat.  There 
was  a  flutter  of  movement  among  the  shawls,  accom- 
panied by  a  low  wailing.  Egholm  noticed  with  some 
surprise  that  deaf  old  Maren  was  weeping  with  the 
best.  Evidently,  the  influence  of  Angel  Karlsen 
could  manifest  itself  in  other  ways  than  that  of 
common  speech. 

Egholm  was  greatly  moved  ;  he  withdrew  his 
gaze,  and  looked  down  at  the  floor  as  if  in  search 
of  something  fixed  and  immovable.  But  Fru 
Laursen's  back  began  to  work,  and  soon  her  bulky 
frame  was  slopping  incontinently  about  in  front 
of  him.  Egholm  felt  an  ache  within  him,  something 
comparable  to  hunger  ;  he  raised  his  eyes  and  seemed 


26  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

to  see,  through  tears,  great  folded  angel-wings 
behind  Karlsen's  back.  This  was  too  much  ;  Egholm 
surrendered  himself  utterly,  and  wept.  And  his 
weeping  was  louder  and  more  passionate  than  the 
weeping  of  those  about  him  ;  some  there  were  who 
ceased  at  the  sound,  and  watched  him. 

Young  Karlsen  had  planted  himself  against  the 
wall  by  the  end  of  Egholm's  bench,  and  was  enjoying 
the  effect.  The  wrinkles  in  the  young  apostle's  face 
were  ceaselessly  at  play,  forming  new  and  intricate 
labyrinths  without  end.  As  soon  as  the  Angel  had 
finished  his  prayer,  young  Karlsen  slipped  in  close  to 
Egholm  and  sat  down  beside  him. 

"  Straight  to  the  heart,"  he  said  admiringly, 
"  That's  the  sort  of  goods,  what  ?  It  fetches 
them." 

Egholm  dried  his  eyes  bashfully. 

"  That's  the  way  to  drive  a  lot  like  this.  But  " 
— a  sudden  gleam  of  contempt  shone  in  his  blue-and- 
watery  sheep's  eyes — "  it's  about  the  only  thing  he 
can  do.  Angel,  indeed  !  Once  he's  got  you  here, 
he's  good  for  something,  I'll  allow.  But  who  is  it 
fills  the  hall  ? — eh,  young  man  ?  Who  is  it  gets  them 
here  to  start  with  ?  Jutland  and  the  half  of  Fyn, 
that's  my  district.  I'm  an  Evangelist — a  fisher  of 
men.  And  I've  my  little  gift  of  tongues  as  well — 
and  need  it,  or  the  fishes  wouldn't  bite  as  they  do. 

*'  Hear  my  little  speech  this  evening  ?  Not  much 
in  it  to  speak  of.     But   then  I'd  finished  really,  by 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  27 

the  time  you  came.  But  I've  got  another  on  hand 
that'll  do  the  trick.     The  Word,  what  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  sighed  Egholm  accommodatingly. 

"  Well,  you  know  yourself,"  said  the  Evangelist, 
with  a  little  laugh,  "  for  you  were  simply  done  for 
when  I  began.     You  can't  deny  it  !  " 

"  God's  own  words "  began  Egholm. 

"  Of  course,  my  dear  good  man,  of  course.  But 
who  picked  them  out  ?  God's  words,  you  say,  but 
there's  any  amount  of  words ;  no  end  of  words.  The 
thing  is  to  pick  out  the  right  ones — just  as  you'd  pick 
out  the  right  sort  of  bait  for  the  right  sort  of  fish. 
God's  words — huh !  The  Bible's  like  a  pack  of  cards ; 
doesn't  mean  anything  till  it's  been  dealt  round." 

Egholm  spoke  up  at  this.  "  I  wouldn't  like, 
myself,"  he  said,  "  to  compare  the  Bible  to  a  pack 
of  cards.  But — as  far  as  I  know — I'd  say  there's 
no  card  to  beat  the  ace  of  clubs." 

The  Evangelist  laughed  heartily.  "  If  spades 
are  trumps,  a  bit  of  a  smudgy  black  knave's  enough 
to  do  for  your  ace  of  clubs.  There's  one  coming 
along  this  evening — I've  been  working  on  her  for 
over  two  years  now,  and  all  she  cared  for  was  the  fear 
of  Hell.  You've  got  to  deal  with  them  according 
to  their  lights,  and  there's  a  power  of  difference 
sometimes.  Now,  you,  for  instance — you  were  easy 
enough.  Windows  of  heaven  opening,  that  was 
your  line.  Ho,  I  remember  !  Well,  well,  it's  all 
the  same,  as  long  as  .  .  .'" 


28  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

Karlsen  broke  off  in  distraction  every  time  the 
door  opened. 

"  As  long  as  the  Lord  gets  your  souls.  And 
Father,  he'll  see  to  that." 

Egholm  began  to  feel  uncomfortable. 

The  congregation  had  broken  up  into  groups, 
centring  more  particularly  about  the  neighbourhood 
of  the  Angel.  Johannes,  the  postman,  glared  furiously, 
with  distended  greenish  eyes,  at  Fru  Laursen  wading 
like  a  cow  among  the  reeds. 

"  If  I  can  keep  behind  her,"  thought  Egholm  to 
himself  as  he  rose,  "  I  might  get  through.  Just  to 
thank  him.  .  .  ." 

"  Thought  it  was  her,"  whispered  Karlsen  in  his 
ear. 

"  Eh  ?  " 

With  a  look  of  unspeakable  cunning,  Karlsen 
brought  his  face  closer,  blinked  his  eyes,  and 
whispered  again  : 

"  A  goldfish  !  And,  on  my  word,  the  best  we've 
had  up  to  now.  The  one  I  told  you  about  be- 
fore." 

Egholm  forgot  all  else.  "  A  lady,  you  mean  ? 
Who  .''     Coming  to-night  ?  " 

"  A  lady,  yes,"  said  Karlsen,  almost  stifling  with 
pride.  "  A  real  lady,  and  no  fudge."  ?Ie  made  a 
gesture  that  might  have  been  mere  helplessness. 
"  But  whether  she'll  come  or  not,  well,  time  will 
show." 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  29 

A  little  after,  he  lapsed  into  his  natural  dialect, 
and  said  frankly  : 

"  I'm  simply  bursting  to  see  if  she'll  come." 

"  But  who  is  it  ?  "  asked  Egholm  impatiently. 

"  Her  name — is — Fru  Westergaard  !  " 

"  What  ?     You  don't  mean— the  Distillery  ?  " 

"  Hundred  thousand,"  said  Karlsen,  patting  an 
imaginary  pocket-book.  "  Widow  of  the  late  Distiller 
Westergaard,  yes  !  "  Then  suddenly  he  broke  into 
his  platform  tone,  an  imitation  of  Angel  Karlsen's 
tear-stifled  voice. 

"  Fru  Westergaard's  soul  was  hungered  and 
athirst  after  Zion.  And  for  two  years  past  I've  cried 
aloud  to  her  in  the  wilderness,  making  ready  the  way 
before  her — the  way  to  the  blessed  Brotherhood  of 
St.  John.  And  now,  at  last,  my  words  have  brought 
forth  fruit  in  her  heart.  Yes,  and  Pve  been  to  the 
villa  !  " 

He  grasped  Egholm's  hand  and  pressed  it  in  a 
long,  firm  grip — a  way  they  had  among  the  Brethren. 

Again  the  door  opened,  but  it  was  only  Meilby, 
the  photographer.  The  Evangelist  turned  up  his 
nose  in  scorn,  and  looked  another  way. 

Meilby  was  another  uncommon  figure  in  his 
way.  Here,  among  a  congregation  of  contritely 
stooping  sinners,  he  walked  as  stiffly  upright  as  a 
well-drilled  recruit.  Even  his  eyes  had  nothing  of 
that  humility  which  might  be  expected  in  the  house 
of  the  Lord,  but  looked  about  him  sharply,  as  if  in 


30  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

challenge,  though  ordinarily  they  were  mildly  blue 
as  a  boy's.  What  did  he  want  here,  night  after 
night  ?  Was  he  drawn  by  some  higher  power,  and 
yet  sought,  like  Saulus,  to  kick  against  the  pricks  ? 
Maybe.  Egholm  looked  after  him  with  a  shake  of  the 
head,  as  he  tramped  through  the  hall,  shut  his  cigar- 
case  with  a  click,  and  seated  himself  irreverently  on 
the  vaulting-horse. 

Egholm  often  walked  home  with  Meilby  after 
the  meetings,  but  it  was  he  who  did  the  talking, 
Meilby's  contributions  rarely  amounting  to  more 
than  a  fretful  "  Heh,"  *'  Haw,"  or  "  Ho  "—a  kind 
of  barking,  incomprehensible  to  ordinary  mortals. 

"  D'you  know  Meilby  at  all  ?  "'  asked  Egholm. 

Karlsen  twirled  one  finger  circlewisc  in  front 
of  his  forehead,  but  he  had  not  time  to  explain  him- 
self further  ;  just  at  that  moment  Fru  Westergaard 
arrived. 

She  stopped  just  inside  the  door,  and  turned  her 
wet  veil  up  over  her  eiderdown  toque — a  tall,  thin 
woman,  with  the  angular  movements  of  an  old  maid, 
and  clothes  that  looked  as  if  she  slept  in  them. 

"  Naughty,  naughty  dog  !  Outside,  Mirre,  Mirre, 
do  you  hear  !  " 

She  faced  round,  and  waved  her  dripping  umbrella 
at  an  eager  poodle  with  its  tongue  hanging  out. 

"  Here  she  is  !  "  cried  young  Karlsen.  And  at 
once  the  room  was  so  still  that  the  scraping  of  the 
dog  could  be  heard  against  the  flooring.     All  mouths 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  31 

stood   open,   as   if    in   one   long  indrawn   breath   of 
astonishment. 

Still  scolding  under  her  breath,  she  walked  with 
some  embarrassment  a  few  steps  forward.  Young 
Karlsen  thrust  Egholm  aside,  and  hurried  to  meet 
her  with  a  bow. 

"  Dog's  all  right,"  he  said,  with  reassuring  ease 
of  manner.  "  Don't  bother  about  him.  Late  ? 
Not  a  bit  of  it ;  we've  hardly  begun.  Just  sitting 
talking,  heart  to  heart,  you  understand.  Come 
along  in,  both  of  you.  Know  me,  doggy,  don't  you, 
eh  ?  " 

He  bent  down  and  ruffled  the  dog's  ears. 

"  He — he  must  have  slipped  out  and  followed  meT 
I'd  no  idea  .  .  ." 

Young  Karlsen's  eyeballs  rolled  about,  to  see  what 
impression  the  lady  made  upon  the  congregation. 
And  he  was  not  disappointed.  If  St.  John  the 
Apostle,  the  traditional  founder  of  the  sect,  had 
appeared  in  their  midst,  it  could  hardly  have  created 
a  greater  sensation. 

Egholm  had  himself  been  something  of  a  thunder- 
bolt— an  ex-official  of  the  railway  service  suddenly 
appearing  in  this  assembly  of  hunchbacked  tailors 
and  lame  shoemakers,  relics  from  the  almshouses, 
and  all  that  was  worn  out  and  faded — always  except- 
ing, of  course,  the  prosperous  ironmonger  at  their 
head.  But  Fru  Westergaard  was  as  an  earthquake 
that   sent  them  flat  on  their  faces  at  once.     Not  a 


32  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

child  in  the  town  but  knew  her  and  her  villa  and  her 
dog,  that  took  its  meals  with  her  at  table. 

Johannes,  the  postman,  stood  leaning  against  the 
wall,  helpless,  as  if  in  terror. 

Madam  -^  Kvist,  her  eyes  starting  out  behind  her 
glasses,  asked  aloud,  in  unaffected  wonder  : 

"  Why — what  in  the  name  of  mercy  will  she  be 
wanting  here  ?  " 

And  Madam  Strand,  the  dustman's  wife,  a  little 
black  figure  of  a  woman,  was  curtseying  and  mumbling 
continually  :  "  Such  an  honour,  did  you  ever,  such 
an  honour.  .  .  ." 

Most  of  those  present  inwardly  endorsed  the 
sentiment. 

Egholm  drew  himself  up  and  sought  to  catch 
Fru  Westergaard's  eye.  He  did  not  manage  it,  but 
let  off  his  bow  all  the  same.  Only  the  incorrigible 
photographer  sat  swinging  his  legs  on  the  vaulting- 
horse,  with  an  expression  of  cold  disapproval  on  his 
face. 

Angel  Karlsen  stood  by  the  three  steps,  ready, 
like  another  St.  Peter,  to  receive  the  approaching 
soul.  He  took  both  the  lady's  hands  and  pressed 
them  warmly. 

"  There's  rejoicing  here  on  earth  and  in  the 
mansions  of  the  Lord,"  he  said,  with  emotion,  "  at 

'  "  Madam,"  the  title  used  for  elderly — strictly  speaking,  married — 
women  of  the  working  class,  as  distinct  from  "  Fru  "  (Mrs.),  which  is — 
or  was — reserved  for  ladies  of  higher  social  standing. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  33 

the  coming  of  this  our  new  disciple."  When  he 
spoke,  his  great  white  beard  went  up  and  down,  as 
if  emphasising  his  words. 

"  And  now  the  usual  word  of  thanksgiving.  Sit 
down  here  in  front,  Frue?'' 

The  new  disciple  was  still  talking  nervously  about 
the  dog — it  was  leaving  footmarks  all  over  the  place, 
but  then,  you  know,  in  such  weather.  .  .  .  She  had 
galoshes  for  it,  really,  only  to-night.  .  .  . 

She  moved  to  sit  down,  but  the  others  rose 
hurriedly  as  she  did  so,  and  the  bench  rocked. 

No,  no,  she  couldn't  sit  there — no,  not  there  ;  she 
couldn't.     No.  .  .  . 

Fru  Westergaard  allowed  herself  the  luxury  of 
some  eccentricities.  She  had  remained  unmarried 
until  her  six-and-fortieth  year. 

Egholm  had  been  prepared  for  the  trouble  about 
the  seat.  Sprightly  as  a  youth,  he  dashed  out  of  the 
hall  and  across  the  courtyard  to  the  taproom  in 
front. 

"  A  chair  ;  lend  me  a  chair,  will  you  .?  Fru 
Westergaard's  there." 

"  Fru  Westergaard  !  " 

"  Fru  Westergaard  !  " 

He  came  back,  breathless,  with  an  American 
rocking-chair,  which  he  proffered  humbly. 

The  congregation  had  meanwhile  arranged  itself 
in  a  phalanx  formation  like  wild  geese  on  the  wing. 
In  the  forefront  of  all  sat  the  new  disciple  in  her 
3 


34  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

restless  chair.  On  the  next  bench  were  Evangeh'st 
Karlscn  and  Eghohn  alone,  and  behind  them  again 
came  the  rest  of  the  dearly  beloved,  in  order  of  pre- 
cedence according  to  dignity  or  ambition. 

The  entire  flock  seemed  shaping  its  course  to- 
wards the  sun,  in  the  person  of  Angel  Karlsen,  who 
was  up  on  the  platform  praying  and  preaching, 
tearful  and  affecting  as  ever. 

"  As  the  hart  fanteth  after  the  water  brooks,  so 
panteth  my  soul  after  Thee,  O  God, 

"  My  soul  thirsteth  for  God,  for  the  living  God  ; 
when  shall  I  come  and  appear  before  God  ?  " 

He  wrung  his  hands  in  a  great  agony,  and  hid  his 
face. 

"  My  tears  have  been  my  meat  day  and  night.  .  .  ." 

Egholm  was  touched.  He,  too,  knew  what  it  was 
to  weep  for  meat. 

Karlsen  the  Elder  closed  with  the  Lord's  Prayer,- 
and  another  hymn  was  sung. 

"  Now,  it's  me  again,"  whispered  the  young 
Evangelist.    "You  see  me  let  her  have  it  this  time." 

His  speech  seemed  actually  to  have  gained  force 
and  balance  ;  there  was  an  evident  purpose  in  it. 
The  opening  was  weak,  perhaps,  for  here  he  still 
clung  to  his  "  Dear  friends  "  from  force  of  habit, 
though  every  word  was  addressed  to  Fru  Westergaard 
only. 

"  And  now,  in  conclusion,  I  thank  you,  my  dear 
friends,  for  coming  here  among  us  the  first  time.     I 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  35 

hope,  dear  friends,  it  may  not  be  the  last.  In  the 
midst  of  all  your  wealth  and  luxury  and  manifold 
delights  out  at  the  villa,  you  have  yet  felt  the  lack  of 
a  word — the  word  of  the  Spirit.  Yes,  dear  friends,  it 
is  even  so.  You  go  to  church  and  you  go  back  home 
again,  and  your  need  is  not  fulfilled. 

"  But  then  one  day  there  comes  to  your  door — 
out  at  the  villa — a  poor  Evangelist,  an  unlearned 
man.  And  lo — a  strange  thing,  dear  friends— Z><f 
has  the  word — the  word  of  the  Spirit  !  " 

Having  thus  laid  down  a  flattering  position  for 
himself,  young  Karlsen  went  on  to  praise  his  new 
convert  as  one  docile  and  of  a  good  heart.  She  had 
come  this  evening  of  all  evenings — a  first  Wednesday 
— on  purpose  that  she  might  pay  her  tithe.  No, 
there  was  no  drawing  back.  And  in  truth  it  would  be 
a  fool's  game  to  try  it  on.  The  Lord,  He  could  see 
straight  through  a  drawer  in  a  table  or  the  cover  of 
a  bank-book,  never  fear  of  that.  And  what  was 
His,  that  He  was  going  to  have.  Yes,  that  was  His 
way.  And  woe  unto  him  that  falleth  into  the  hands 
of  the  living  God  ! 

Far  down  by  the  door,  old  Karlsen  was  modestly 
seated  on  the  extreme  end  of  a  bench.  In  his  lap 
was  a  japanned  tin  box.  There  was  a  slight  rattle 
during  the  next  hymn,  as  he  took  out  his  keys  and 
opened  the  casket. 

The  bench  was  so  placed  that  the  disciples  could 
only  pass  by  in  single  file.     The  old  women  from  the 


36  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

almshouses,  who  had  been  sitting  farthest  back,  were 
now  the  first  to  pass.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  were 
exempt  from  the  tithe  contribution,  having  no 
income  beyond  their  food  and  lodging.  But  most 
of  them,  nevertheless,  managed  to  deposit  a  copper 
two  or  five  ore  piece  with  the  Angel  as  they  went  out, 
though  he  never  so  much  as  looked  up. 

Why  should  he  look  ?  The  money  was  not  for 
himself,  but  for  God.  He  was  only  sitting  there 
holding  the  black  tin  box. 

There  was  a  clicking  of  purse-clips,  and  a  soft 
ring  of  coin.  Lystrup,  the  cobbler,  dropped  his 
money,  and  crawled  miserably  over  the  floor  beneath 
the  benches,  looking  for  that  which  was  lost. 

Those  who  had  paid  stopped  behind  to  see 
the  others  share  their  fate. 

Fru  Westergaard,  Egholm,  and  the  Evangelist 
came  down  together. 

"  But — but  how  do  you  manage  when  it  doesn't 
work  out  exactly  ?  "  said  the  lady,  nervously  trying 
to  do  sums  in  her  head. 

"  It  always  works  out  exactly,"  said  Karlsen,  with 
superior  calm. 

"  As  long  as  it's  kroner,  of  course,  I  understand. 
But  when  it's  kroner  and  ore  ?  " 

She  gave  it  up  as  hopeless,  and  drew  out  a 
crumpled  book  from  the  little  bag  she  carried. 

"  Here  you  are  ;  you  can  sec.  I  get  my  money 
from  the  bank,  you  know  ;  it's  in  a  book  like  this." 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  37 

Egholm  craned  up  on  tiptoe.  The  Evangelist 
wormed  up  closer,  his  face  a  curious  mingling  of 
venom  and  sweetness  ;  even  old  Karlsen  thrust  the 
box  under  his  arm  and  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  My  spectacles  !  "  And  he  slapped  his  pockets 
so  that  the  money  rattled  in  the  box. 

Two  hundred  and  sixty-six  kroner  thirty  ore. 

That  was  the  figure  that  showed  again  and  again 
down  the  page  in  the  cross-shaded  columns,  with 
Fru  Westergaard's  signature  after.  There  was  a 
murmur  from  the  waiting  crowd. 

"  How  much  was  it  ?  " 

"  Eh,  to  think  now  !     And  every  month  !  " 

"  Over  two  hundred  and  fifty,  that  is,"  explained 
Lystrup,  the  cobbler. 

"  That  will  be  twenty-six  kroner  sixty-three  to 
us,"  said  the  Evangelist,  as  if  it  were  the  merest  trifle. 

"  Not  sixty-three  ore  ? — that  can't  be,"  said  the 
disciple  energetically,  looking  round  for  support. 

Egholm  could  not  meet  her  eyes  ;  it  pained  him 
that  Karlsen  was  so  evidently  right. 

"  But  I  only  get  thirty  ore,  and  you  say  I'm  to 
pay  out  sixty-three  !  No,  thank  you,  that's  trying 
it  on,  I  know." 

"  It's  the  law — it's  the  law."  Old  Karlsen 
drummed  on  his  box. 

"  Oh,  I  won't  put  up  with  it  !  "  Fru  Wester- 
gaard's grey  cheeks  flushed  with  a  red  spot. 

"  Not  an  ore  less." 


38  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  "? 

Young  Karlscn  stood  planted  in  the  opening 
between  the  bench  and  the  wall.  He  wore  high 
boots,  with  his  trousers  thrust  into  them,  and  stood 
with  his  feet  a  little  apart.  There  was  something 
ominous  written,  as  it  were,  between  the  lines  in 
his  face.  His  shoulders  were  slightly  raised — a  very- 
respectable  pair  of  shoulders  had  young  Karlsen. 

Fru  Westergaard  tucked  away  her  book  again 
with  trembling  hands. 

"  Perhaps  you'll  let  me  pass  ?  " 

"  It's  twenty-six  sixty- three,  all  the  same,"  said 
the  Evangelist,  without  moving  an  inch. 

"  I  won't  give  more  than  twenty-six  thirty  !  " 
She  stamped  her  foot.  Mirre  growled  softly,  and 
sniffed  round  and  round  Karlsen's  legs. 

"  Twenty-six  sixty-three." 

"Sh!"  old  Karlsen  intervened.  "We'll  take 
what  Fruen  thinks  is  right.  The  Lord  is  long- 
suffering.  .  .  .  Lauritz,  you  can  be  putting  out  the 
corner  lights." 

Thus  did  the  Angel,  by  his  wisdom  and  gentle- 
ness, save  one  soul  for  the  congregation  of  the 
Brethren. 

Fru  Westergaard  had,  it  appeared,  the  money 
in  a  separate  compartment  of  her  bag,  all  ready 
counted  out.  Handing  them  to  Angel  Karlsen,  she 
said  : 

"  And  you're  (|uitc  sure  there's  no  Hell,  really  ?  " 

"  No  Hell  .  .  ." 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  39 

Young  Karlsen  was  standing  on  a  bench,  puffing 
at  one  of  the  lights.  He  turned  warningly  towards 
his  father. 

"No,"  he  cried.  "That's  right.  No  Hell. 
You  know,  we  talked  it  over.   .   .   ." 

Angel  Karlsen  bowed  his  head  in  silence,  but 
Fru  Westergaard  stared  wildly  before  her. 

"  Hell,  hell  fire,  all  yellow  flames.  .  .  ." 

Egholm  could  contain  himself  no  longer.  He 
would  show  the  lady  and  the  rest  of  them  how  a  true 
disciple  settled  up  his  accounts  with  God.  With  a 
smile  and  a  gesture  as  if  he  had  been  casting  a  rose 
into  his  mistress'  lap,  he  flung  his  paper  bag  of  money 
into  the  Angel's  casket.  The  bag  burst  with  the 
shock,  and  the  coins  came  twirling  out  ;  the  old 
man  had  to  use  both  hands  to  guard  them,  and 
could  hardly  close  the  box. 

"  Wait,  there's  more  yet !  "  cried  Egholm,  and 
his  voice  broke.  He  held  the  silver  spoon  aloft 
in  two  fingers,  then  pressed  it  in  through  the  crack 
at  the  lid  of  the  box. 

But  the  box  was  full  to  repletion,  and  the  bowl 
of  the  spoon  would  not  go  in. 

Egholm  felt  there  had  never  been  so  magnificent 
an  offering. 

Yet  another  of  the  Brethren  passed  by  that 
strait  place — Meilby,  the  photographer.  Not  one 
single  copper  ore  did  he  put  in,  but  Angel  Karlsen 
only  turned  his  eyes  meekly  to  the  other  side. 


Ill 


FEBRUARY  had  set  in.  Fru  Egholm's  seventh 
was  making  ever  stronger  demands  on  her 
heart's  blood.  While  she  toiled  at  her  work, 
the  young  citizen  to  come  was  pleased  to  kick  about 
occasionally,  or  turn  over  on  the  other  side,  making 
her  faint  and  dizzy.  But,  recovering,  she  would 
smile,  and  whisper  softly :  "  There  there,  now,  bide 
your  time,  little  man."  She  had  her  own  con- 
victions that  it  was  to  be  a  boy. 

Egholm  stood  in  front  of  the  mirror,  smoothing 
his  wreath  of  hair.  His  pupil  was  due  for  the  English 
lesson. 

"  The  Pupil "  was  a  subject  of  considerable 
importance  in  the  house,  especially  to  Egholm's  own 
mind.  It  was  no  other  than  Meilby,  the  sharp- 
tongued  photographer,  who  had  started  taking 
lessons  in  the  previous  November.  After  many 
mysterious  hints,  and  exacting  a  promise  of  silence, 
he  had  confided  to  Egholm  that  he  was  going  to 
America  in  a  few  months'  time.  Egholm  had  grabbed 
at  him  avidly  and  without  ceremony,  as  a  chance  of 
work.  Regarded  as  a  pupil,  he  was  by  no  means 
promising.     He    had    but    the    faintest    conception 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  41 

ol  any  difference  between  parts  of  speech  such  as 
substantives  and  adjectives,  and  whenever  his  mentor 
touched  on  genitives  and  possessives,  he  would 
glance  absently  towards  the  door.  Furthermore,  he 
never  paid  any  fees,  which  was  a  subject  of  constant 
tribulation  between  Anna  and  her  husband. 

"  But  it's  a  good  thing  to  have  a  little  outstand- 
ing.    Like  capital  in  the  bank,  against  a  rainy  day." 

Anna  made  no  answer  to  this.  It  seemed  to  her 
mind  that  the  days  were  rainy  enough  to  call  for  all 
the  capital  by  any  means  available. 

Egholm  sniffed  vigorously,  and  postponed  the 
matter  further.  But  now  it  was  February,  and  he 
must  raise  the  question  somehow.  He  smoothed 
his  hair  with  extra  attention,  to  make  the  most  of  his 
dignity  when  the  pupil  arrived.  Unfortunately,  he 
could  hardly  point  to  the  goods  delivered  and  de- 
mand payment  in  cash — the  goods  were  so  little  in 
evidence. 

It  passed  off  better  than  he  had  expected.  Meilby 
said  "  Good  evening  "  in  English  when  he  arrived, 
and  laughed  a  little  nervously,  as  if  dismayed  at  his 
own  courage.  Egholm  snatched  at  the  opening,  and 
came  to  the  point  at  once  : 

"  That's  right,  that's  right — you're  getting  on. 
Getting  on,  yes.  But  don't  you  think,  now,  you 
might  let  me  have  a  little  on  account  ?  " 

Meilby  laughed  no  more.  Money — it  was  always 
such  a  nuisance  about  money.     There  didn't  seem 


42  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

to  be  any  money  these  days.     Money  was  a  thiag 
extinct,  he  said. 

"  On  earth,  yes,"  Egholm  admitted. 

But  no  need  to  bother  about  that.  It  would  be 
all  right.  Only  wait  to  the  end  of  the  month,  and 
then  it  would  be  decided.  "  Whether  I'm  to  go  or 
not,"  said  Meilby. 

Of  course,  he  didn't  want  to  go.  Much  rather 
stay  where  he  was.  But,  of  course,  he  would  go  all 
the  same.  What  else  could  he  do  .?  And  if  he  went, 
why,  then,  of  course,  Egholm  would  get  his  money. 
That  was  how  it  stood.     How  else  could  it  be  ? 

Egholm  was  very  far  from  understanding,  but  he 
gave  it  up.  Opening  the  book,  he  got  to  work  at 
the  lesson,  but  with  less  careful  attention,  perhaps, 
than  usual.  And  after  a  little  he  broke  in,  cutting 
short  his  pupil  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence  : 

"  But  about  the  money — how  will  you  get  the 
money  if  you  do  go  ?  " 

"  Why,  then,  of  course,  I  shall  sell  all  my 
apparatus." 

So  that  was  it.  Egholm  still  seemed  troubled  in 
his  mind.  He  knew  the  collection  of  things  that 
formed  Meilby's  stock-in-trade.  There  was  one 
item  in  particular — that  devilish  camera  of  his.  It 
was  quite  a  small  one,  but  with  a  breadth  of  focus 
that  could  almost  look  round  a  corner.  Fancy  having 
that  for  his  own  !  There  would  be  an  end  of  poverty 
then  ! 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  43 

The  windows  of  heaven  should  be  opened,  and  the 
flood  pour  in — oh,  in  no  time.  He  knew  it,  he  felt 
sure  of  it.  But  the  belly  was  not  to  be  put  off,  not  for 
so  much  as  a  day.  And  his  hands  were  impatient  too  ; 
there  was  a  nervous  thrill  at  the  roots  of  the  nails, 
or  a  deadly  chill  in  the  fingers  from  sheer  inactivity. 
Every  morning  he  raced  about  after  the  situations 
vacant  in  the  papers,  but  always  in  vain.  With 
Meilby's  apparatus,  he  could  make  money — ay, 
though  his  studio  had  no  roof  but  the  February  sky. 

He  grew  quite  genial  towards  his  pupil,  and 
praised  him  more  than  was  properly  his  due.  When 
they  had  finished  with  their  brainwork  for  the 
evening,  he  said  anxiously  : 

"  But,  promise  me  you  don't  go  selling  them  with- 
out letting  me  know." 

Meilby  would  bear  it  in  mind. 

"  Yes,  but  suppose  you  forgot  ?  " 

"  Why,  we'll  be  none  the  less  friends  for  that," 
said  Meilby,  with  an  amiable  smile. 

"  You'll  get  nothing  out  of  him,  you  see,"  said 
Anna  when  he  had  gone.  "  It'll  be  just  the  same 
with  him  as  with  young  Karlsen,  when  he  came  to 
learn  EngHsh,  too.  Huh  !  It  was  you  that  learned 
something  that  time,  if  you  ask  me." 

"He's  an  artful  one,"  said  Egholm,  with  a  laugh. 
"  He  tricked  the  doctor  when  he  went  to  be  examined. 
But,  after  all— what's  a  trifle  like  that  when  a  man 
stands  firm  on  the  rock  of  truth  ?  " 


44  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

"  Do  you  think  Meilby  does  ?  You  think  it's  for 
any  good  he's  going  running  off  to  America  like  that  ?  " 

Egholm,  law-abiding  man,  paled  at  the  thought, 
but  said,  with  an  attempt  at  liveliness  : 

"  I'll  get  him  to  stay,  then." 

"  But  he  won't  pay  you  at  all  unless  he  goes." 

That,  again,  was  true — painfully  true.  No  .  .  . 
anyhow,  Egholm  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  any 
doubtful  affairs.  Not  for  any  price.  Better  let 
Meilby  go  his  own  gait  as  soon  as  he  pleased. 

But  even  as  he  formed  the  thought,  he  seemed 
to  feel  the  milled  edges  of  the  screws  that  set  the 
camera  between  his  fingers,  and  with  a  sigh  he 
breathed  the  resolution  from  him  once  more. 

One  morning,  a  few  days  later,  Egholm  came  back 
from  his  usual  round. 

"  No  luck,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  no,"  he  snarled,  flinging  off  his  hat. 
Then  he  took  down  the  Bible. 

What  could  have  happened  to  make  his  hands 
shake  like  that  ? 

A  few  minutes  later  came  the  explanation. 

"  I  went  after  a  job — Hansen  and  Tvede,  it  was 
— as  errand  boy.  Told  them  they  could  have  me  a 
full  day's  work  just  for  my  food.  But  they  laughed 
at  me.  Oh,  and  there  was  a  beast  of  a  fellow  in 
riding-boots — the  manager,  perhaps.  You  should 
have  seen  his  face." 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  45 

"  Perhaps  he  meant  it  wasn't  the  sort  of  thing 
they  could  offer  you.  Something  better,"  hinted 
Fru  Egholm. 

He  made  no  answer,  but  strove  to  calm  his  in- 
dignation by  strenuous  attention  to  the  Bible.  If 
that  didn't  help  him,  why,  then  .  .  .  But  he  was 
nearly  through  with  it  now — it  was  the  Epistle  to 
the  Hebrews. 

The  letters  danced  and  crept  like  ants  before  his 
eyes. 

"  And  verily  they  that  are  of  the  sons  of  Levi,  who 
receive  the  ofice  of  the  priesthood,  have  a  command- 
ment to  take  tithes  of  the  -peofle  according  to  the  law, 
that  is,  of  their  brethren.  .  .  ." 

"  Ha  ha  !  Riding-boots  and  all  !  No,  'twasn't 
that  he  meant,  giving  me  something  better.  The 
beast  !     I  shan't  forget  him  !  " 

"  For  the  priesthood  being  changed,  there  is  made  of 
necessity  a  change  also  of  the  law.  .  .  ." 

"  '  I  see  from  the  paper  you're  wanting  an  errand 
boy  ' — that's  what  I  said  to  him.  And  asked  if  I 
would  do.  And  I  crushed  my  hat  in  my  hands  and 
stood  up.  Then,  of  course,  what  he  ought  to  have 
said  was,  '  What,  you  looking  for  a  place  as  errand 
boy  ?  No,  no.  Couldn't  think  of  it.  I'll  take  you 
on  in  the  office,  as  a  clerk.  You  shall  be  cashier. 
I've  taken  a  fancy  to  you,  the  way  you  stand 
there  modestly  as  could  be.'  But  he  didn't  say 
that,    not    a    word   of   it.     Good   Lord,   no !      The 


46  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

worst  of  it  was,  he  saw  through  mc.  He  zvinked 
at  me  !  " 

"  For  there  is  verily  a  disannulling  of  the  command- 
ment going  before  for  the  weakness  and  unprofitableness 
thereof. 

"  For  the  lazv  made  nothing  perfect,  but  the  bringing 
in  of  a  better  hope  did  ;  by  the  which  we  draw  nigh 
unto  God.'''' 

Egholm  sighed,  and  passed  his  hand  over  his 
face.  Alas,  he  noted  to  his  shame  how  his  thoughts 
had  strayed  from  the  Bible's  lofty  theme. 

What  could  it  be  for  a  commandment,  that  was 
disannulled  for  the  weakness  and  unprofitableness 
thereof,  he  wondered.  H'm,  it  would  say  farther 
on,  no  doubt.  And  he  read  on,  but  it  did  not  appear 
to  say.  Then  he  went  back  and  began  again,  reading 
slowly,  in  a  whisper,  the  same  verses  over  again. 
And  of  a  sudden,  his  heart  contracted  violently, 
forcing  a  spout  of  blood  to  his  temples.  What — 
what  was  this  ?     Was  it  the  tithe  that  was  abolished  ? 

He  read  it  through  again  and  again. 

"  Anna  " — he  dared  not  trust  his  own  senses 
now — "  Anna,  come  here  and  look  at  this.  Quick 
— read  from  there  to  there."  He  stood  as  if  about 
to  strike  ;  there  were  red  spots  on  his  pale  face. 
Anna  trembled  with  fear,  and  fell  to  reading  about 
Mclchisedec,  the  Levitcs,  and  the  rest,  without 
understanding  a  word  of  it  all. 

"  Well,  why  don't  you  speak,  woman  ?  "  broke  in 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  47 

Egholm,  when  she  had  been  reading  a  few  seconds. 
"  Are  you  asleep  ? — or,  perhaps  it  doesn't  interest 
you  ?  Eh  ?  Now,  then,  what  is  it  you're  reading  ? 
— what  do  you  make  of  it  ?     Eh  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  see,"  stammered  Fru  Egholm,  her 
eyes  flitting  to  another  part  altogether  in  her  con- 
fusion— "  something  about  the  Tabernacle.   .  .  ." 

"  Is  the  tithe  abolished  ? — that's  what  I  want 
to  know,"  said  Egholm  insistently.  "  Does  it  say 
there,  or  does  it  not,  that  the  tithe  is  weak  and 
unprofitable  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes — but  that's  what  I've  always  said," 
answered  she,  with  marvellous  presence  of  mind. 
"  Was  it  only  that  you  wanted  me  to  see  ?  " 

Egholm  looked  her  up  and  down  contemptuously. 

A  moment  later  he  was  tearing  down  the  street 
with  the  big  family  Bible  all  uncovered  under  one 
arm. 

Oh,  but  this  was  the  most  wonderful  day  of  his 
life  !  The  Bible  itself  had  revealed  its  darkest 
secrets  to  him — to  him  alone.  What  would  they  say, 
all  those  whose  minds  were  yet  in  darkness  ?  what 
would  old  Angel  Karlsen  say  ?  what  would  young 
Evangelist  Karlsen  look  like  with  his  wrinkled  face — 
when  they  heard  that  the  Community  of  the  Brethren 
of  St.  John  was  built  on  sand — nay,  upon  a  swamp, 
into  the  bottomless  depth  of  which  their  money 
sank  never  to  be  seen  again  ?  He,  Eghohn,  was  a  new 
Luther,  wielding  the  Bible  as  a  mighty  club  against 


48  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

heresy  and  false  doctrine.  They  would  have  to  make 
him  Angel,  ay,  Archangel,  after  this.  In  every 
land  where  the  Brethren  of  St.  John  were  known, 
his  name  would  be  named  with  honour.  He  would 
write  a  new  Book  of  Laws  for  the  Brotherhood,  and 
it  should  be  translated  into  seven  tongues.  Into 
seven  tongues  !     Almost  like  a  new  Bible. 

Karlsen's  shop  was  at  a  corner  of  the  market 
square.  It  was  a  very  old  house,  with  a  steep  red 
roof.  At  the  bottom  two  small  windows  had  been 
let  in  to  make  it  look  like  a  shop,  and  through  them 
one  could  discern,  in  spite  of  a  thick  layer  of  cobwebs 
and  dust,  the  rows  of  shelves  with  yellow  jars  in  all 
sizes.  The  modest  store  was  suited  to  the  taste  of 
the  peasant  customers.  They  could  stand  for  ages 
pondering  over  the  choice  of  a  shovel  or  rake,  and 
weighing  it  in  the  hand.  Karlsen  was  understood 
to  be  a  wealthy  man. 

Egholm  inquired  of  a  chilblainy  youth  if  he  could 
speak  with  Angel  Karlsen. 

H'm.     He  didn't  know.     Would  go  in  and  ask. 

"  Say  it's  something  of  importance,"  said  Egholm. 

As  the  door  in  the  corner  was  opened,  Egholm 
heard  a  sound  of  voices  in  dispute  from  the  office 
beyond.  Two  voices — and  he  could  not  recognise 
either.  Or  was  it — yes,  surely  that  was  old  Karlsen's, 
after  all  ?  Egholm  listened  in  wonder,  as  one  might 
listen  to  a  familiar  air  played  out  of  time  or  at  a 
different  pace. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  49 

"  Call  me  a  scoundrel  if  you  like,"  shouted  the 
one,  a  nasal  trumpeting  voice  with  a  twang  of  city 
jargon — "  call  me  a  thief,  a  convict,  or  anything 
you  damn  well  please,  but  I  won't  be  called  a  fool  !  " 

"  But  the  contract,  the  contract,  the  contract !  " 
screamed  out  the  angelic  voice  of  Karlsen  the  Elder. 

No,  the  young  man  was  sorry,  Hr.  Karlsen 
could  not  possibly  see  him  just  now.  He  was 
engaged  with  one  of  the  travellers. 

"  Well,  I  must  see  him,  anyhow,"  said  Egholm 
more  soberly. 

They  were  at  it  again  inside,  and  his  knock  was 
unheeded.  Then  suddenly  the  whole  seemed  to 
collapse  in  a  cascade  of  laughter. 

He  knocked  again,  and  walked  in.  There  was 
old  Karlsen,  his  face  unevenly  flushed,  with  a  fat 
cigar  sticking  out  of  his  beard,  and  before  him  a 
bright-eyed,  elegantly  dressed  commercial  traveller, 
who  slapped  the  Angel's  outstretched  hand  repeatedly, 
both  men  laughing  at  the  top  of  their  voices. 

"  Beg  pardon,  Hr.  Karlsen — er — would  you  kindly 
read  this  ?  .  .  ."  Where  was  it  now  ?  Egholm 
began  helplessly  turning  the  pages  of  his  Bible. 

"  Hullo,  here's  somebody  wants  to  save  our  souls, 
by  the  look  of  it,"  said  the  elegant  one,  with  a  ten- 
tative laugh. 

"  Didn't  my  young  man  out  there  tell  you  I  was 
engaged  ?  "  said  old  Karlsen  angrily,  turning  aside. 

"  But  it's  a  discovery  I've  made — it's  of  the 
4 


50  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

utmost  importance.  A  wonderful  find — here  in  the 
Holy  Scripture  itself.  Read  it,  here — it's  only  a  few 
lines.  I  can  hardly  believe  my  own  senses.  Read  it 
—there  !  " 

"  But,  my  dear  friend,"  said  the  Angel,  "  you  can 
see  for  yourself  I'm  engaged.  We're  in  the  middle 
of  important  business." 

"  Let  me  read  just  three  words  to  you." 

"  No,  no,  no,  I  won't  have  it,  I  say." 

Egholm  stood  with  hectic  cheeks  ;  his  former 
respect  for  the  Angel  still  checked  any  actual  out- 
burst of  fury,  but  from  the  look  of  him,  it  was 
doubtful  what  might  happen  next. 

"  This  is  not  the  proper  place  to  discuss  the  word 
of  God,  nor  the  proper  time,  nor  the  mood  for  it, 
either.  Come  round  again  this  evening,  my  dear 
Egholm.  At  eight,  say,  and  then  we  can  talk  over 
whatever  it  is  that's  troubling  you." 

The  commercial  plucked  him  by  the  sleeve. 
"  I  thought  you  were  coming  round  to  the  hotel — 
Postgaarden,  you  said." 

"  Er — well,  we  might  say  to-morrow  evening  at 
eight,"  corrected  the  Angel.  "  Yes,  come  round 
to-morrow,  Egholm  ;  that  will  do." 

Egholm  drew  himself  up  and  shot  sparks,  but 
said  nothing.  He  shut  up  the  clasp  of  his  Bible 
with  a  snap. 

"  Have  a  cigar,  won't  you  ?  "  said  the  Angel, 
offering  the  box. 


EGHOLM  AND!HIS  GOD  51 

"  No,  thank  you." 

"  Yes,  yes,  do.  They're  none  so  bad — what, 
Hr.  Nathan  ?  " 

Hr.  Nathan  uttered  a  curious  soundman  articu- 
late shudder,  as  it  were — and  looked  quizzically  at 
the  box. 

"  I  don't  smoke." 

"  Well,  then,  a  glass  of  port  ?  " 

''  I've  other  things  to  think  about  than  drink- 
ing wine.  The  fate  of  the  Brotherhood  lies  in 
my  hand.  In  my  hand.  I'm  going  round  to  the 
Deacon  now." 

"  No,  really  ?  He  he  !  Are  you  really  ?  Well, 
well,"  said  Karlsen,  with  that  strangely  jovial  angel 
voice  of  his,  that  Egholm  knew  so  well,  and  yet  found 
strange.  .  .  . 


IV 


BUT  Egholm  was  so  shaken  by  his  interview  with 
the  Angel  that  he  did  not  go  round  to  the 
Deacon  after  all.  The  Deacon  was  a  pottery 
worker,  living  at  a  village  just  outside  the  town. 

He  went  back  home  to  look  again  and  make  sure 
it  was  right.  He  clutched  the  Bible  tightly  under 
his  arm  as  he  walked,  as  if  in  dread  lest  the  all-im- 
portant text  might  drop  out. 

Yes,  there  it  was.  He  read  through  the  passage 
again  in  wonder,  and  fell  to  musing  anew. 

That  same  evening  Evangelist  Karlsen  came 
round. 

Egholm  shook  his  head  nervously. 

"  It's  no  good,  Karlsen.  No.  I'm  not  going  to 
give  in." 

Young  Karlsen  stood  staring  open  mouthed. 

"  No.  I've  settled  up  with  myself  once  and  for 
all.  I  won't  give  in.  I  know  well  enough  what 
you've  come  for." 

"  But,  my  dear  friends,  what  on  earth  are  you 
talking  about  ?     Anything  wrong  ?  " 

"  Karlsen,  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  it's  your  father 
sent  you  round,"  said  Egholm  almost  pleadingly. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  53 

"  I  swear  I  know  nothing  of  the  sort.  I've  only 
just  got  back  this  evening.  From  Veile.  Know 
Justesen,  the  horsedealer,  there  ?  Been  seeing  him. 
And  then  on  the  way — I've  been  dragging  my  bag 
along,  and  it's  heavy.  I  thought  I'd  just  look  in 
for  a  breather." 

"  Let  Sivert  carry  it  for  you,"  said  Fru  Egholm. 

"  No,  thanks,  it's  all  right  outside  on  the  stairs. 
I  never  like  to  leave  it  very  long." 

Egholm  put  his  hand  to  his  eyes  ;  the  cracked 
and  furrowed  countenance  of  the  Evangelist  always 
distracted  his  attention.  Then  he  began  telling  of 
his  discovery — first,  in  mysterious  roundabout  hints, 
then  suddenly  breaking  out  into  fiery  declamation, 
with  the  open  book  before  him,  and  his  finger-nail 
underlining  the  words. 

Karlsen  was  thunderstruck.  And  he  thought  he 
knew  his  Bible.  .  .  .  Never  in  his  life  had  he  come 
across  that  place.  He  stamped  about  the  room, 
spitting  into  all  four  corners. 

Egholm  went  further  ;  he  drew  up  an  outline 
of  the  new  laws,  the  entire  reorganisation.   .   .   . 

"  It'll  be  a  hard  struggle  for  me,  I  know.  But 
I'll  .   .   ." 

"  Oh,  we'll  manage  it  all  right,"  said  Karlsen 
cheerfully. 

"  Eh  ?  D'you  mean  to  say  .  .  .  you're  on  my 
side  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  on  the  side  of  the  Bible,  of  course." 


54  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

And  there  was  Egholm  with  the  enemy's  leading 
general  won  over,  without  a  blow ! 

"  It's  the  only  thing  to  do,  anyway,"  explained 
Karlsen,  "  as  things  are  now.  There's  been  some 
talk  about  you  having  my  place  when  I  moved 
up.  But  I  don't  know  what  they'll  say  to  that 
now.  ..." 

"  Me  !  Evangelist  !  "  Egholm  turned  stiff  all 
over. 

"  Yes,"  said  Karlsen  quietly. 

"  I've  never  heard  a  word  about  it  before," 

"  Well,  the  Elders  have  gathered  together  .  .  . 
But  it  was  to  be  a  surprise,  you  understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  murmured  Egholm  faintly.  Again 
it  overwhelmed  him  for  the  moment,  but  he  re- 
covered himself,  and  said,  with  a  laugh  : 

"  Who  knows,  they  might  make  me  Angel  now." 

"  Almost  sure  to,  I  should  say,"  opined  the  dark 
Evangelist. 

Egholm  felt  calm  and  strong  now,  no  longer 
dizzy  as  he  had  been  during  the  morning.  And 
Karlsen  was  really  a  jolly  sort,  after  all.  Here  he 
was,  actually  gloating  over  the  face  his  respected 
father,  the  Angel,  would  set  up  when  the  bombshell 
burst. 

The  upshot  of  it  was  that  they  worked  out  a 
plan  together. 

Egholm  was  to  prepare  a  grand  speech  for  the 
meeting  next  Wednesday.     Karlsen  knew — now  he 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  55 

came  to  think  of  it — quite  a  lot  of  first-rate  texts 
that  could  be  used,  in  support  of  the  new  discovery. 

"  But  don't  you  think  " — Egholm  lowered  his 
voice  confidentially — "  wouldn't  it  be  better  if  I 
went  round  to  the  Brethren,  and  just  let  them  know 
how  it  stands  ?  " 

Karlsen  pondered. 

"  H'm.  I  should  say,  the  best  way's  to  take  the 
whole  congregation  by  surprise,  all  at  once.  Better 
effect,  you  know,  when  you  can  stand  there  and  throw 
out  a  hand  and  there  it  is  !  And  you've  quite  a 
decent  platform  manner,  to  my  mind." 

"  Yes,"  agreed  Egholm,  beaming. 

"  Anyhow,  I'll  trot  round  and  tackle  a  few  of 
the  thickest  heads  myself.  I've  a  certain  amount  of 
influence,  you  know,  and  authority,  and  all  that. 
I  know  how  to  manage  them." 

"  Why,  then,  it's  as  good  as  done  !  "  Egholm's 
voice  was  almost  a  song. 

"  Easy  as  winking,"  said  Karlsen  confidently. 

"  You  don't  know  how  glad  I  am  you  came  over 
to  the  right  side  at  once." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  about  that.  You  can  always 
do  me  a  little  service  some  time  in  return." 

They  stayed  up  till  nearly  midnight.  Egholm 
strode  up  and  down,  filling  the  room  with  words. 
Possibly  he  was  already  rehearsing  for  the  coming 
Wednesday.  Karlsen  smoked,  and  drank  many  cups 
of  black  coffee.     The  children  hung  over  the  table, 


56  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

limp  and  heavy  with  drowsiness,  casting  greedy 
glances  at  the  settee.  Their  mother  tore  at  her 
sewing  more  violently  than  usual,  and  sighed  aloud. 

At  last  Karlsen  took  his  leave.  Egholm  could 
not  bear  to  break  off  even  then,  but  went  out  with 
him.  He  waved  his  arms  in  the  air,  and  tripped 
about,  now  and  then  actually  circling  round  his 
companion  as  they  walked. 

Did  he  think,  now,  the  Bible  Society  would 
care  to  have  a  dissertation  on  the  two  conflicting 
points  ?  There  ought,  at  any  rate,  to  be  some  kind 
of  indication,  an  asterisk,  say,  in  the  first  place,  to 
save  others  from  confusion. 

Karlsen  thought  they  very  likely  would. 

The  street  lamps  glowed  red  in  the  fog.  A 
policeman  appeared  at  a  corner,  waved  to  them 
cheerfully,  and  said  sympathetically  :  "  Get  along 
home  ;  that's  the  best  place  for  you." 

"  Thinks  we're  drunk,"  said  Egholm,  and  stopped 
for  breath.  "  But — we've  been  talking,  and  never 
thought  .  .  .  your  bag.  We've  forgotten  all  about 
it." 

"  Bag  r  Oh  yes.  ...  No ;  that's  all  right.  I 
spotted  the  old  man's  cart  just  outside  the  station, 
and  sent  it  home  by  that." 

"Good!  Then  that's  all  right."  Egholm's 
thoughts  were  at  once  occupied  with  something  else. 
His  brain  was  fluttering  with  innumerable  winged 
thoughts. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  57 

"  Well,  better  say  good-night." 

"  Good-night,  Karlsen.  And  thanks,  thanks. 
You  shall  be  Angel,  if  I  can  put  in  a  word." 

Egholm  looked  round,  confused.  Where  had 
they  got  to  now  ?  These  big  houses  ...  it  wasn't 
the  way.  .  .  . 

"  I'll  see  you  right  home,"  he  offered. 

"  Well — er — I'm  not  exactly  going  home  just 
yet,"  said  the  Evangelist,  with  some  embarrassment. 
"  Just  a  hand  at  cards  with  a  few  friends,  that's 
all."  He  sighed  guiltily.  "  But  if  I  do  win  a  kroiier^ 
say,  it  means  ten  ere  to  the  Brethren.  .  .  .  Oh,  I 
forgot,  that's  all  over  now,  of  course." 

"  But — d'you  mean  to  say  there's  anybody  up  at 
this  time  of  night  ?  "  asked  Egholm  in  astonishment. 

"  Only  a  couple  of  friends — Brethren  in  the 
Lord." 

"  But  where  ?  " 

"  In  the  red  room  at  the  Hotel  Postgaarden^^^ 
said  Karlsen  innocently. 


GOING  round  to  the  meeting  on  the  following 
Wednesday,  Egholm  was  surprised  to  find 
the  hall  already  full,  though  it  was  not  yet 
eight  o'clock.  He  was  also  surprised,  and  agreeably 
so,  to  perceive  that  his  entry  created  some  stir. 
Evidently,  Karlsen  had  let  fall  a  word  of  what  was 
to  happen.  Unless,  indeed,  it  w^ere  the  Lord  Himself 
that  had  given  hint  of  it  to  each  individually.  Any- 
how, it  was  just  as  well  to  have  plenty  of  witnesses 
in  a  case  like  this. 

But  where — where  were  the  Elders  of  the  flock  ? 

Egholm  sat  down  at  the  back  of  the  hall,  by  the 
stove  ;  it  was  a  pious  impulse  that  had  come  to  him, 
having  in  mind  the  promise  that  whoso  humbleth 
himself  shall  be  exalted.  And  it  was  a  good  idea  in 
other  ways,  he  thought.  The  little  group  of  paupers 
would  form  an  excellent  background. 

"  Angel  Karlsen — hasn't  he  come  yet  ?  "  he 
whispered  to  a  shawl-wrapped  crone  at  his  side. 

The  woman  looked  round,  showing  a  face  weather- 
worn and  overgrown  like  a  relic  of  the  past.  A  single 
tooth  showed  like  a  stone  wedge  in  her  half-open 
mouth.     She  made  no  answer. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  59 

Egholm  repeated  his  question,  with  no  more 
result  than  before.  Oh,  but,  of  course,  it  was  Deaf 
Maren.  He  had  forgotten  for  the  moment.  But 
how  ugl^  she  looked  to-night — and  what  a  malicious 
glance  she  gave  him.  And  the  others,  too,  all  with 
the  same  forbidding  look — why  couldn't  they  answer  ? 
It  was  plain  to  see  they  had  heard  his  question,  and 
that  they  knew  enough  to  tell  him  if  they  would. 
But  every  one  of  them  turned  away,  or  looked  down 
at  the  floor — until  at  last  Madam  Strand,  the  gipsy 
woman,  who  was  sitting  on  a  bench  at  the  extreme 
left,  crept  up  to  him  with  a  submissive  curtsey. 

''  They're  in  there — all  of  them,"'''  she  said,  with 
a  shake  of  her  thin  grey  locks.  "  All  the  God-fearing 
lot — the  Angel,  and  the  Prophet  from  Copenhagen — 
bless  'em — and  the  Deacon  and  young  Karlsen. 
Talking  and  talking  and  making  their  plans.  Such 
a  fuss  they're  making  to-night — enough  to  make  a 
body  quake  all  over." 

She  passed  her  wrinkled  skinny  hand  over  his 
wrist  as  she  spoke. 

Egholm  felt  his  heart  beat  faster.  He  glanced 
over  towards  the  door  Madam  Strand  had  indicated  ; 
it  led  to  a  little  anteroom  that  was  used,  among  other 
things,  as  a  dressing-room  for  the  gymnasium  class. 
He  fancied  he  could  hear  voices.  A  moment  ago 
he  had  felt  something  like  pity  for  all  these  people, 
whose  conviction  he  would  now  be  called  upon  to 
shatter    and   replace    by   another.     But    already   he 


6o  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

found  himself  in  need  of  courage,  seeking  comfort 
from  the  fact  that,  after  all,  the  weapon  was  in  his 
hand.  What  did  it  matter  if  there  were  many  who 
came  up  against  him  ?  And  young  Karlsen,  no 
doubt,  would  help  to  bear  the  brunt  of  it. 

This  last  was  merely  a  sort  of  aside  to  himself. 
But  Egholm  felt  his  doubts  of  the  EvangeHst's 
honesty  suddenly  grown  stronger  than  ever. 

Those  artful  round  eyes  of  his — and  the  queer 
look  in  them  when  he  had  said  good-night  that 
evening  outside  Hotel  Postgaarden.  What  could  one 
expect  from  a  man  who  went  off  to  play  cards  at 
twelve  o'clock  at  night  at  hotels  ?  And  what  sort 
of  companions  could  he  find  for  the  same  ?  "Brethren 
in  the  Lord,"  indeed  !  It  was  an  expensive  place, 
too,  that  one  could  hardly  expect  the  poorer  Brethren 
to  frequent.  Wait  a  bit,  though  :  Postgaarden  .  .  . 
wasn't  it  there  the  commercial  traveller  man  was 
going  to  meet  old  Karlsen  that  same  evening  ?  .  .  . 
To  sum  up,  then,  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  neat 
piece  of  spying,  and  carrying  the  whole  tale  to  his 
father  immediately  after  !  After  which,  of  course, 
he  had  simply  been  sent  round  to  all  these  simple 
souls,  to  set  their  minds  against  him,  Egholm.  .  .  . 

It  would  be  a  hard  fight  now. 

Fru  Westergaard  and  Mirre,  the  dog,  passed  by. 
Egholm  rose  and  bowed,  but  received  only  a  half- 
glance  in  return.  Fru  Westergaard  made  her  way 
through    to    her    privileged    chair,    and    sat     down 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  6i 

carefully,  arranging  her  skirts  about  the  dog's 
head. 

Her  arrival  was  like  that  of  the  bride  at  a  wedding, 
the  signal  for  proceedings  to  begin.  At  the  same 
moment,  the  door  of  the  little  room  opened,  and  a 
little  troop  of  men — looking,  to  tell  the  truth,  more 
like  mutes  at  a  funeral  than  anything  to  do  with 
weddings — marched  in  close  order  up  on  to  the  stage. 
At  their  head  the  Angel,  wrapped  in  his  beard,  which 
seemed  alive  with  electric  tension.  After  him 
marched  the  Prophet  from  Copenhagen — a  quon- 
dam priest  by  the  name  of  Finck — together  with 
the  Deacon,  Potter  Kaasmose,  whose  long  hair  was 
plastered  down  and  cut  as  if  to  the  rim  of  one  of  his 
own  pots.  Of  the  remaining  five,  Egholm  knew  only 
two — Dideriksen,  the  Apostle,  and  Karlsen,  the 
Evangelist.  Dideriksen  was  a  very  pious  man,  as  was 
apparent,  for  instance,  in  his  habit  of  constantly 
stroking  downwards  over  his  face.  Karlsen  had  put 
on  a  glaring  red  tie,  which  gave  him  a  martial  touch. 
He  looked  as  if  he  were  gloating  over  some  great 
disaster.  The  stairs  had  been  widened  with  a 
further  consignment  of  beer  boxes,  so  that  the  pro- 
cession could  mount  the  platform  in  something  like 
order. 

A  breathless  silence  reigned  among  the  congrega- 
tion when  Angel  Karlsen  began  to  pray,  while  the 
remaining  Elders  seated  themselves  in  a  half-circle. 
The   Copenhagen  Prophet,   evidently  on  easy  and 


62  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

familiar  terms  with  platforms,  thrust  his  coat-tails 
carelessly  aside,  polished  his  gold  pince-nez  with  a 
handkerchief  of  brilliant  whiteness,  and  did  other 
things  hitherto  unknown  in  those  surroundings. 
Young  Karlsen,  for  instance — not  to  speak  of  Potter 
Kaasmose — would  have  been  utterly  unable  to  imitate 
the  elegant  movement  with  which  he  flung  one  leg 
over  the  other,  after  first  pulling  up  the  legs  of  his 
trousers.  He  had  chosen  his  seat  on  the  extreme 
right,  like  the  first  violin  in  an  orchestra.  His 
interesting  appearance  could  hardly  fail  to  draw  off 
some  attention  from  the  prayer,  but  was  no  doubt 
edifying  in  itself. 

"  Amen,"  said  Angel  Karlsen. 

"  And  having  now  concluded  this  prayer  which 
Thou  Thyself  hast  taught  us,  we  further  pray  that 
this  our  ancient  congregation,  founded  by  St.  John 
the  Apostle,  and  lasting  even  unto  this  day  in  despite 
of  the  deluge  of  sin  and  the  drought  of  indifference, 
may  likewise  henceforward  so  prevail  against  the 
ravages  of  the  wolf  that  steals  abroad  by  night,  that 
neither  sheep  nor  lamb  may  fall  a  prey. 

"  All  ye  who  were  present  here  last  evening  know 
what  I  mean.  But  for  those  others  who  do  not,  I 
will  briefly  set  forth  the  matter  which  has  called  us 
Elders  to  gather  in  conclave  here  to-night." 

Egholm  sat  gasping  as  if  half  stunned.  "  Present 
here  last  evening  !  .  .  ."  Then  they  had  called 
a  meeting,  without  his  knowledge — a  meeting  where 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  63 

they  had  betrayed  him  and  his  great  cause,  and 
sowed  the  seed  of  hatred  against  him  in  all  the 
hearts  of  those  who  had  no  judgment  of  their  own. 
In  the  midst  of  his  anger,  indignation,  and  fear, 
Egholm  yet  tried  to  frame  a  prayer  for  strength  and 
courage.  But  he  could  do  no  more  than  mumble 
helplessly  :  "  I'm  in  the  right,  you  know  I  am. 
Lord  God,  you  know  I'm  in  the  right." 

Meanwhile,  old  Karlsen  was  reciting  a  pretty 
parable  about  the  wolf  that  took  upon  itself  sheep's 
clothing,  that  it  might  deceive  the  unwary — ay,  even 
the  shepherd  himself,  that  he  might  open  the  door 
of  the  fold  and  let  that  monster  enter  in,  with  kindly 
words :  "Enter,  poor  strayed  sheep,  and  be  refreshed 
with  the  grass  of  this  pleasant  fold."  But  then  one 
day  the  shepherd  looked  into  the  eyes  of  that  wolf 
in  sheep's  clothing,  and  lo  !  they  were  eyes  of  fire. 
And  another  day  he  looked  at  its  teeth,  and  lo ! 
they  were  the  teeth  oi  a  wolf.  But  the  monster 
believed  itself  still  safe  and  unsuspected — even  until 
to-night.  "And  so  it  comes  here  amongst  us  at  this 
moment,  and  says  to  the  sheep  :  '  Follow  me.  I 
know  a  place  where  the  grass  is  richer  and  more 
pleasant  ;  make  haste  and  leave  that  evil  shepherd, 
who  shears  you  of  your  fleece.  I  will  lead  you;  I 
will  be  your  shepherd  !  '  " 

When  the  Angel  had  finished,  Egholm  rose,  pale 
and  ill  at  ease,  and  begged  leave  to  speak.  But  his 
seat  was  so  far  back,  and  his  voice  so  weak,  that  those 


64  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

on  the  platform  might  be  excused  for  overlooking 
him.  All  heard,  however,  when  young  Karlsen 
called  out  the  number  of  a  hymn,  and  though  Egholm 
repeated  his  request  in  a  slightly  louder  voice,  the 
congregation  began  singing  : 

" '  Up,  ye  Christians,  up  and  doing, 
Warriors  of  the  Lord,  to  arms  ! 
Lo,  the  foeman's  host  pursuing, 
All  the  power  of  war's  alarms. 

Draw  and  smite 

For  the  right, 
Hell  is  arming  'gainst  the  Light. 

Follow  in  your  leader's  train. 
Trusting  in  his  strength  to  win, 
Satan  hopes  the  day  to  gain, 
Up,  and  smite  the  host  of  sin  ! 

Here  at  hand 

Still  doth  stand 
One  who  can  all  powers  command ! ' " 

Egholm  had  lost  patience.  As  the  hymn  con- 
cluded, he  sprang  up  and  roared  across  the  hall  : 

"  Look  here,  do  you  mean  to  say  /'///  Satan  ?  " 

There  was  a  stir  as  all  in  the  hall  turned  round. 
Fru  Westergaard's  chair  rocked  suddenly,  and  a  bench 
crashed  down,  but  after  that  followed  a  moment  of 
icy  silence,  cleft  immediately  by  Karlsen's  angel 
trumpet  : 

"  Guilty  conscience,  Egholm  ?  " 

A  new  silence,  Egholm  stammering  and  gurgling, 
but  finding  no  appropriate  answer.  Then  the 
Evangelist  let  loose  a  shower  of  insulting  laughter. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  65 

Strangely  enough,  this  had  the  effect  of  bringing 
Egholm  to  his  senses. 

"  I  was  the  first  to  ask  ;  it's  your  place  to  answer. 
D'you  mean  to  say  I'm  Satan  ?  " 

And  before  any  of  the  Elders  on  the  platform 
could  pull  themselves  sufficiently  together,  he  went 
on  : 

"  Do  you  know  this  book  here  ?  It's  an  old  one, 
and  the  title-page  is  missing.  You  think,  perhaps, 
it's  St.  Cyprian,  but  I  can  tell  you,  it's  the  Holy 
Scripture.  Yes,  that's  what  it  is.  And  what  I  have 
to  say  to  you  now  is  just  the  words  of  the  Scriptures, 
and  no  more.  Holy  Scripture,  pure  and  undefiled. 
I'll  read  it  out,  and  you  can  judge  for  yourselves. 
I  tell  you,  you  haven't  got  a  shepherd  at  all ;  you've 
a  butcher  !  " 

At  the  first  exchange  of  words,  the  congregation 
had  been  confused  and  uneasy,  quivering  this  way 
and  that  like  a  magnetic  needle  exposed  to  inter- 
mittent current.  Now,  Egholm  had,  it  is  true,  most 
of  them  facing  his  way,  but  many  looked  up  to  the 
Elders,  and  especially  to  the  Angel,  partly  to  see  the 
effect  of  Egholm's  words,  and  partly  to  gain  some 
hint  as  to  which  way  their  own  feeling  should  tend. 
The  congregation  was  thus  divided,  but  Egholm 
wanted  it  united.  Accordingly,  he  left  his  place 
between  Deaf  Maren  and  the  stove,  and  advanced 
by  jerks,  still  speaking,  up  towards  his  foes. 

Yes,  he  knew  it  was  a  serious  thing  to  call  Angel 
5 


66  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

Karlsen — Egholm  shook  a  little  at  the  venerable 
words — a  butcher.  But  it  was  plain  to  him  now, 
after  what  had  passed,  that  Angel  Karlsen  was  not 
acting  in  good  faith  as  regards  the  point  in  dispute  : 
whether  tithe  should  be  paid,  or  if  tithe  had  been 
abolished  by  God's  own  word,  and  was  consequently 
foolish — nay,  wicked.  But  if  the  Angel  knew  God's 
will,  and  did  not  act  upon  it,  and  open  the  eyes  of 
the  Brotherhood  to  the  same,  then  no  words  could 
be  too  strong. 

Egholm  spoke  for  twenty  minutes.  He  had  got 
right  to  the  front,  and  stepped  up  on  to  the  first 
of  the  beer  boxes,  making,  as  it  were,  an  act  drop  of 
his  body  in  front  of  those  on  the  platform.  The 
audience  could  only  see  their  shadows,  and  hear  a 
slight  sound  when  the  Copenhagen  Prophet  cleared 
his  throat.  Once  young  Karlsen  tried  his  devilish 
laugh,  but  was  sternly  suppressed  by  his  venerable 
sire.  There  was  no  real  disturbance  of  any  sort  ; 
the  congregation  made  but  one  listening,  eager 
face.  The  Elders  were  exorcised  already.  Victory 
— victory  ! 

But  at  the  very  moment  when  the  thought  first 
thrilled  him,  Egholm's  eloquence  suddenly  ran  dry. 
With  a  spasm  of  dread  he  realised  that  he  could 
say  no  more.  The  source  within  him,  that  he  had 
imagined  endless,  had  ceased.  He  had  not  firmness 
enough  to  begin  again,  and  the  texts  and  parables 
he  had  chosen  for  his  purpose  had  been  rehearsed  so 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  61 

often  In  his  mind  for  the  occasion  that  he  could  not 
now  remember  what  he  had  actually  said  and  what 
he  could  still  use. 

The  emptiness  that  followed  was  almost  physi- 
cally oppressive — Egholm  gasped  once  or  twice  as  if 
the  very  air  about  him  were  gone.  Then  came  the 
voice  of  the  Angel,  calm  and  firm  : 

"  Have  you  any  more  to  say  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Egholm,  paling  as  he  spoke.  "  I 
hope  now  you  have  understood." 

And  with  that  he  stepped  down  from  his  eleva- 
tion, sighed,  wiped  his  forehead  nervously,  and  leaned 
up  against  the  wall  at  the  side. 

Old  Karlsen  delivered  a  prayer  longer  and  more 
powerful  than  ever  before.  It  gathered  like  a  cloud 
above  the  congregation,  gradually  obscuring  all  that 
Egholm  had  said.  Not  until  he  noticed  that  the 
cloud  had  condensed  here  and  there  to  a  mild  rain 
of  tears  did  the  Angel  pass  over  imperceptibly  to 
mention  of  Egholm's  onslaught. 

"  And  now,  now — well,  you  have  heard  the 
leader  of  your  flock,  the  shepherd  and  Angel  of  the 
Brotherhood,  referred  to  as  a  butcher.  Here,  in  our 
own  house,  and  out  of  the  mouth  of  one  whom  we 
regarded  as  a  brother.  Why  do  I  not  lift  up  my 
hand  against  him,  and  drive  him  forth,  even  as  the 
Master  drove  out  those  from  the  Temple  who  defiled 
its  holy  places  ?  No  !  For  it  is  written  :  Blessed 
are  the  meekJ'^ 


68  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

The  Angel's  prayer  had  opened  the  hearts  of  the 
flock.  Thereupon  Finck  the  Prophet  stepped  for- 
ward. He  wore  a  reddish-brown  beard,  his  eye- 
brows were  bushy,  and  his  eyes  glittered  behind  his 
glasses.  It  seemed  as  if  he  had  hitherto  affected 
lordly  indifference,  but  was  now  so  moved  that  he 
could  no  longer  control  his  emotion,  and  his  anger 
burst  forth  in  a  torrent. 

"  In  days  gone  by,"  he  began,  "  when  I  realised 
that  the  Established  Church  of  Denmark  was  being 
suffered  to  drift  like  a  ship  without  a  compass,  I 
declined  to  stay  on  board.  And  before  leaving,  I 
warned  my  fellow-travellers,  and  the  captain  and  the 
mate.  I  told  them  in  plain,  bold  words  that  they 
were  drifting  towards  shipwreck.  Many  believed 
that  my  words  were  over-bold.  A  conflict  raged 
about  my  name,  as  some  of  you  may  perhaps 
remember.  But,  now,  we  have  heard  a  man  whose 
words  were  not  bold,  but  only  brutal  and  coarse — a 
man  who,  I  think  I  am  qualified  to  say,  lacks  the 
very  rudiments  of  ability  to  understand  what  he 
reads.  This  ignoramus  takes  upon  himself  to  pick 
out  a  verse  here  and  a  verse  there,  and  then  adds 
them  together  in  a  fashion  of  his  own.  We  may 
compare  him  with  the  man  who  read  one  day  in  his 
Bible  :  '  Cain  rose  up  against  Abel  his  brother,  and 
slew  him  ' — and  the  next  :  '  Go  thou  and  do  like- 
wise.' .  .  ." 

The  sum  and  essence  of  Finck's  oration  was  that 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  69 

the  rendering  of  tithe  was  a  jewel  of  price  reserved 
for  the  Brotherhood  of  St.  John  apart  from  all  others. 
To  cast  away  that  jewel  now  would  be  sheer  madness. 

Egholm  stood  quivering  with  impatience  to 
answer.  His  mind  was  clear  now  as  to  what  he 
should  say.  And  as  soon  as  Finck  had  ended,  he 
sprang  forward. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  Hr.  Finck,  the  Prophet, 
in  spite  of  all  his  claims  to  learning,  and  his  libellous 
attack  .   .   ." 

"  Silence,  man  !  "  roared  Finck,  his  voice  echoing 
roundly  from  the  walls.  "  We  will  hear  no  more. 
You  have  said  your  last  word  here.     Go  !  " 

"  My  turn  now,"  said  young  Karlsen,  with  a 
swaggering  fling  of  his  shoulders. 

But  the  venerable  Angel  could  not  find  it  in  his 
heart  to  deny  Egholm  a  last  word.  He  found  it 
preferable  to  let  him  wreak  his  own  destruction. 
And  with  his  keen  perception  of  the  feeling  among 
the  congregation,  he  was  confident  that  this  would 
be  the  result. 

"  Beloved  Brethren,"  he  said,  "  there  is  but  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  left  us — one  poor  quarter  of  an 
hour.  I  had  endeavoured  to  secure  the  hall  for  an- 
other hour,  but  other  and  more  worldly  matters 
intervened.  I  think,  then,  we  should  let  Egholm 
say  what  his  conscience  permits  him,  and  then  con- 
clude with  the  old  hymn  :  '  All  is  in  the  Father's 
hand.'  " 


70  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

"  I  should  just  like  to  ask  Prophet  Finck,"  said 
Egholm  furiously,  "  how  he  would  interpret  and 
explain.  .   .  ." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  said  Finck  loftily. 

"  The  leading  point,  the  essence  of  the  whole 
thing,  namely,  the  text  found  by  me  in  the  Epistle 
to  the  Hebrews — you  have  not  said  a  word  about 
that,  really.  I  am  firmly  convinced  that  I  am  right, 
but,  all  the  same,  I  should  like  to  hear  how  you 
propose  to  explain  away  .  .  ." 

"  Write  it  down,"  broke  in  Finck  sharply. 

Egholm  obeyed  involuntarily.  He  found  a  stump 
of  lead  pencil  in  his  waistcoat  pocket,  and  began 
scrawling  on  the  faded  paper  at  the  back  of  his  Bible. 
He  was  a  facile  writer  ordinarily,  but  in  his  present 
state  of  emotion  he  could  hardly  frame  his  question. 
Two  or  three  times  he  struck  out  what  he  had  written 
and  began  again.  Suddenly  he  heard  young  Karlsen 
clearing  his  throat,  and  then  : 

"  Now,  then,  we'd  better  ,  .  ." 

"  No,  no  !  "  cried  Egholm. 

"  Throw  that  man  out,"  commanded  Finck. 

"  You  cowards,  you're  afraid  to  let  me 
speak  !  " 

"  Oh,  go  and  heave  him  out,  Johannes,"  called 
young  Karlsen,  leaning  over  the  footlights. 

But  Johannes,  the  postman,  was  paralysed  already 
by  the  unwonted  tumult,  and  did  not  move.  There 
were  others  in  the  hall,  however,  who  seemed  eager 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  71 

enough  to  respond  to  the  invitation,  seeing  that 
Karlsen  himself  was  to  be  responsible. 

"  You  miserable  traitor,"  hissed  Egholm,  "  give 
me  back  my  tithes,  give  me  my  money,  and  I'll 
go.  But  not  before.  Give  me  my  four  hundred 
kroner.^' 

"  Turn  him  out,  the  wretch  !  " 

"  '  All  is  in  the  Father's  hand, 

All  things  answer  His  command.  .  .  .'  " 

The  Angel  made  a  brave  attempt  to  start  the  hymn, 
but  the  congregation  appeared  more  interested  in 
the  conflict,  and  no  one  followed  his  lead. 

"  My  money — give  me  my  money,  you  thieves !  " 

"  Pot  calling  the  kettle  black !  "  cried  the  Evan- 
gelist, with  a  sneer. 

"  Liar,  slanderer,  scoundrel !  "  roared  Egholm, 
seeing  in  this  last  remark  a  reference  to  the  manner 
of  his  dismissal  from  the  railway  service.  And, 
beside  himself  with  fury,  he  raised  the  heavy  Bible 
to  throw  at  Karlsen,  when  a  diversion  took  place 
which  drew  off  his  attention  and  that  of  the 
audience. 

A  confused  but  violent  noise  came  from  the  back 
of  the  hall,  and  then  repeated  shouts  that  rose  above 
the  din. 

"  You  lanky  black  beast  !  You  filthy  devil  ! 
What  about  the  seventh  commandment  ?  Yes ;  it's 
you   I   mean,   you  filthy,  incontinent  swine  !     You 


72  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

evangelical  hypocrite  !  What  about  Metha,  eh  ? 
She's  lying  there  at  home  now  and  asking  for  you 
— for  you  !  " 

The  words  were  plain  and  to  the  point  ;  every- 
one in  the  hall  stared  in  amazement  at  the  back- 
sliding photographer,  who  was  standing  on  a  bench 
and  waving  clenched  fists  in  the  air.  It  was  evident 
that  he  had  been  drinking. 

Then  they  turned  to  look  at  young  Karlsen.  His 
face  was  drawn  awry. 

Egholm  was  so  moved  at  this  unexpected  rein- 
forcement that  the  tears  flowed  down  his  cheeks. 
He  found  voice  again  and  took  up  the  cry. 

"  They're  a  lot  of  criminals,  all  of  them.  Setting 
themselves  up  against  God's  laws  that  I've  dis- 
covered. I'll  have  you  up,  that  I  will.  Give  me 
my  money,  my  money  !  " 

Young  Karlsen  lost  his  self-control.  He  sprang 
in  long  leaps  down  through  the  hall,  and  flung 
himself  upon  Egholm,  thrusting  his  head  forward  like 
a  bull  about  to  charge. 

"  You  shut  yo'  jaw  !  "  he  cried,  lapsing  into  his 
country  dialect. 

"  Lauritz,  be  careful !  "  cried  the  Angel  warningly. 
But  it  was  too  late.  Finck  came  up  to  take  part, 
and  Egholm  was  borne  towards  the  door,  still  shout- 
ing, and  hanging  on  with  arms  and  legs  to  the  benches 
as  he  passed. 

A   little    party   of    Brethren   carried   Meilby   in 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  73 

similar  fashion  to  the  door.  Serve  him  right,  the 
sneak,  always  behindhand  with  his  tithes.  .   .  . 

The  hall  was  filled  with  shouts  and  oaths,  cries, 
and  the  barking  of  a  dog. 

The  Histrionics  gathered  open  mouthed  about 
the  doorway.  It  was  their  dress-rehearsal  night  for 
the  coming  performance  of  "The  Lovers''  Secret. 


VI 


MEILBY  was  in  difficulties  with  his  dress — his 
braces  had  given  way — and  Egholm  was 
sucking  an  abrasion  on  the  back  of  his 
hand.  Nevertheless,  each  felt  a  sense  of  relief,  as 
they  walked  briskly  over  the  cobblestones,  talking 
loudly  and  emphatically. 

''  If  the  Lord  had  sent  a  rain  of  fire  upon  their 
heads  ...  I  was  looking  for  it  all  the  time.  I 
can't  understand  that  He  didn't.     Can  you,  now  ?  " 

Meilby  answered,  with  a  self-satisfied  smile  : 

"  Wasn't  wanted,  that's  about  it.  He  sent  me 
instead." 

"  Yes ;  that's  true.  Thanks,  Meilby — thanks  for 
your  help,"  said  Egholm,  pressing  the  other's  arm. 
"  But  what  was  it  all  about,  really  ?  I  was  so  excited 
at  the  time.  ...  I  mean,  what  was  behind  it  all  ?  " 

"  Ha  ha,  yes,  what  was  behind  it  all  !  Metha 
Madsen  was  behind  it  all — Metha  and  her  brat. 
Karlsen's  it  was,  and  they've  been  trying  to  make 
out  it  was  mine." 

"  Terrible,  terrible  !  " 

"  No;  it's  not.  I'm  going  away,  and  I'll  be  out 
of  it  all.      The  old  Angel  in  his  little  shop,  he  fixed 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  75 

it  all  up,  for  her  to  say  it  was  me.  Wouldn't  have 
done  for  his  dear  little  son,  you  know,  and  an 
Evangelist  into  the  bargain.  Kid  was  born  at  ten 
o'clock,  and  it  wasn't  stillborn  either." 

"  But  you  could  declare  on  oath  .  .   ." 

"  Well,  you  know,  that's  a  ticklish  business.  On 
oath.  .  .  .  No  ;  I  did  the  only  thing  there  was  to  be 
done — came  along  every  evening  to  the  meetings, 
and  glared  at  them,  and  threatened  to  kick  up  a 
scandal.  But  it's  not  so  easy  to  make  a  speech  in  a 
crowd  like  that.  Anyhow,  I  managed  it  all  right 
this  time,  didn't  I  ?  " 

"  Splendidly.     And  now — you're  going  away  ?  " 

"  To-morrow.  First  thing  to-morrow  morning," 
whispered  Meilby  hoarsely.  "  Come  up  with  me 
now.     I  shan't  go  to  bed  to-night." 

"  Why,  it's  all  empty  !  "  said  Egholm  dismally, 
looking  round  the  place.  There  was  a  travelling 
trunk  in  the  middle  of  the  studio  floor,  and  that 
was  all. 

"  Every  rag  and  stick  cleared  out,"  said  Meilby 
triumphantly. 

"  But  you  promised  me — you  promised  me  for 
certain  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  I've  fixed  it  up  for  you  all  right.  Never 
meant  to  do  you  in,  you  know.  That  I  swear.  Not 
from  the  first  evening.  Here — here's  the  pawnticket 
for  some  neat  little  things — that's  yours.  I've  sold 
the  rest.     Eh  ?      Oh,  don't  mention  it,  not  at  all." 


76  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

Egholm  read  the  legend  on  the  ticket — for  a 
matter  of  a  few  kroner  he  could  buy  the  camera  thing 
outright.     He  was  delighted  ;  he  was  touched. 

"  None  of  your  sneaking  Angel  ways  about  me," 
said  Meilby  simply. 

"  And  what  are  you  going  to  do  over  there  when 
you  get  there  ?  " 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  Don't  even  know  where 
America  is.  If  I  hadn't  got  my  ticket,  I'd  never  find 
the  way.  But  I've  got  it  all  right,  thank  the  Lord ! 
Here,  you  can  see.  Looks  like  business,  doesn't  it, 
what  ?  But  it's  a  long  way,  that's  true.  Wonder  if 
there's  women  there.   .   .   ." 

Egholm  staggered  off  homewards. 

If  only  he  could  go  with  Meilby.  Get  away  out 
of  this  hole,  with  its  hypocrites  and  scoundrels,  its 
patent-shoed  prophets  and  broadcloth  deacons,  away 
to  America.  .  .  . 

Yes ;  Egholm  felt  he  must  go.  Not  to  America, 
of  course — that  was  beyond  him.  But  go  somewhere. 
Just  a  few  miles  away.  Knarreby,  for  instance,  or 
somewhere  thereabout.  Meilby's  camera  would  keep 
him  above  water,  wherever  he  chose  to  commit  him- 
self to  the  waves — himself,  that  is.  As  for  his  family, 
well,  he  could  always  send  some  money  home. 

Anna  was  still  up  when  he  got  back.  He  sat 
down  and  commenced  telling  her  about  the  meeting. 
Also,  that  he  was  going  away.  He  grew  excited 
again,  but  she  did  not  seem  to  take  in  all  he  was 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  TJ 

saying.     There   was    something    strange    about    her 
this  evening.  .  .  . 

"  I  knew  it  all  along,"  was  all  she  said. 

She  was  still  moving  about  when  he  rolled  him- 
self in  the  bedclothes  and  laid  his  weary  head  on  the 
pillow.  But  suddenly  a  fresh  quiver  of  raw  pain  went 
through  her.     She  staggered  to  the  bed  and  dropped. 

"  Oh  .  .  .  Egholm,  it's  coming.  You'll  have 
to — go  and  fetch  her  now.  You  know  where  she 
lives.  .  .  ." 

Beyond  her  pain  and  fear,  she  felt  for  one  brief 
moment  a  blessed  sense  that  this  was  her  hour  ;  she 
was  to  be  the  centre  of  importance  for  once.  It  was 
a  victory. 

Her  husband,  on  his  part,  felt  no  share  in  anything 
victorious.     He  roused  her  quickly  to  her  senses. 

"  It'll  have  to  keep  till  to-morrow,"  he  said  in 
an  offended  tone.  "  You  surely  don't  mean  to  send 
me  running  about  now  in  the  middle  of  the  night  ?  " 

But  it  would  not  keep  till  to-morrow.  .  .  . 

Egholm  suffered  considerably  that  night.  A 
couple  of  women  whom  he  did  not  remember  to  have 
seen  before  came  up  to  assist  the  midwife,  and  took 
possession  of  the  place,  relegating  him — the  master — 
to  the  status  of  a  slave.  One  handed  him  a  bucket, 
indicating  simply  that  it  was  to  be  emptied  in  the 
bustdin  in  the  yard.  He  was  not  accustomed  to 
such  errands,  but  went  down  the  dark  stairs  meekly. 


78  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

He  had  barely  returned,  when,  shaken  as  he  was,  they 
bade  him  run  at  full  speed  to  the  chemist's.  He 
looked  round  helplessly  for  Hedvig  and  Sivert,  but 
the  children  had  already  been  safely  lodged  with 
Eriksens'  down  below,  out  of  the  way.  Egholm 
went.  He  took  it  like  a  man.  True,  he  wept,  but 
he  did  not  scream  aloud,  as  did  his  wife  over  her  part. 

Later  on,  towards  morning,  he  was  ordered  to 
find  some  tape.  As  the  simplest  way  of  searching, 
he  took  his  wife's  workbox  and  tipped  it  upside  down. 
He  found  no  tape,  but  he  found  some  crumpled 
letters,  which  interested  him  as  soon  as  he  perceived 
the  signature  was  his  own. 

Egholm's  features  writhed  themselves  into  ex- 
pressions of  disgust  as  he  read  the  tender  words,  the 
ardent  longing,  with  which  he  had  once  written  to  a 
certain  "  dearest  Anna." 

There  were  even  some  verses  dedicated  to  that 
same  Anna — "  Dove  of  my  heart.  .  .  ." 

The  verses  in  themselves  were  chiefly  in  praise  of 
Helsing0r,  Helsingor.  ...  As  through  a  mist  Egholm 
saw  the  two  women  who  had  played  any  part  in  his 
life — Clara  Steen,  from  Helsingor,  and  Anna,  from 
Aalborg.  Once,  the  two  had  been  as  one  in  his  mind 
— it  was  at  the  time  he  wrote  those  letters.  The 
verses  to  Helsingor,  dedicated  to  Anna,  were  proof 
of  it.  And  now — ah,  now  .  .  .  Clara,  a  silken-soft, 
delicious  dream,  and  Anna,  a  heavy,  sighing,  hollow- 
eyed  reality. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  79 

Clara — what  of  Clara  now  ?  No ;  she  was  for- 
gotten. All  that  Egholm  remembered  was  the 
picture  of  her  on  the  wall  of  her  father's  ofiice.  But 
he  remembered  that  only  too  well.  Though  it  was 
long  now  since  he  had  seen  it  of  nights.  .  .  . 

Egholm,  the  weary,  his  night's  rest  broken,  his 
hopes  trampled  under  the  butcher-boots  of  Karlsen 
Junior,  his  past  for  years  back  a  ravening  hunt  for 
work  ;  Egholm,  the  miserable,  sank  down  on  a  chair 
and  buried  his  face  in  the  litter  from  the  workbox, 
with  the  letters  under  it. 

There  was  a  bitterness  in  his  mouth  almost  of 
physical  disgust.  .  .  . 

As  it  grew  light  he  stole  out  of  the  house.  The 
women  were  making  coffee,  with  a  great  deal  of 
fussing  about.  He  seemed  to  remember  they  had 
come  in  once  during  the  night,  and  showed  him 
a  child.  He  had  expected  it,  and  showed  no 
surprise.  .  .  . 

The  walk  out  along  the  frosted  roads  did  him 
good. 

That  money  for  the  camera  must  be  found.  Ten 
kroner — after  all,  it  was  not  a  million.  And  he 
must  have  them.  .  .  . 

He  came  back  home  warm  and  cheerful,  to  find 
the  house  in  an  atmosphere  of  rejoicing  that  fitted 
well  with  his  mood. 

Anna  lay  there  in  bed  with  a  splendidly  clean 
nightdress  on,  and  a  face  younger  by  years. 


8o  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

"  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  blessing  of  things  ?  " 
she  said,  pointing  round  the  room.  "  What  do  you 
think  that  is  ?  Butter !  And  there's  soup.  Sit 
down,  you  poor  thing.  Hedvig,  make  haste  and  dish 
up  a  plate  of  soup.  And  Mother's  sent  ten  kroner. 
Don't  say  the  day  of  miracles  is  past  !  " 

"  Why,  that'll  pay  for  the  journey  !  "  Egholm 
exclaimed,  with  emotion. 

"  Journey  ?     What  journey  ?  " 

"  Er  —  well,  you  remember.  .  .  .  We  said 
before  .   .   ." 

"  Oh  no  !  "  cried  Anna,  trembling.  "  You 
mustn't,  Egholm.  You  mustn't.  God's  everywhere. 
He  can  help  you  here  as  well.  I  haven't  been  able 
to  be  much  to  you  lately,  I  know,  but  only  wait 
a  little,  and  you  shall  see.  With  God's  help,  I'll  be 
up  and  about  again  in  four  days  from  now.  I  can 
generally  manage  with  four,  you  know. — Yes,  I  know 
you  always  say  the  gipsies  and  that  sort  don't  need 
to  stay  in  bed  at  all,  but  then  they're  more  like 
animals  than  human  beings — heathen,  at  any  rate. 
Don't  go  away  now,  Egholm  ;  you  sec  how  I'll  work 
— oh,  you  wait  and  sec.  And  make  money,  and  you'll 
get  work,  too,  all  right." 

"  Never,  in  this  beastly  place." 

"  Yes,  you  will.  Tiistcn.  Last  night,  when  it  was 
over,  and  the  women  had  gone,  I  lay  tliinking  of  the 
lovely  boy  the  Lord  had  sent  me.  I  felt  such  a 
relief,  and  it  was  all  so  good  and  nice.     It  was  about 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  8i 

four,  I  think.  And  just  as  I  was  dropping  off  again, 
I  saw  a  man  with  two  bright  eyes  standing  there  by 
the  cradle.   .   .  ." 

"  A  spirit,  you  mean  ?  "  said  Egholm,  with  a 
gasp. 

"  Yes,  yes. — Be  careful,  you're  spilling  the 
soup.  I  lay  there  quite  quiet,  and  looked  at  him, 
and  he  looked  at  me.  I  dared  hardly  breathe,  for 
fear  he  should  vanish  again.  His  eyes  were  ever  so 
big — and  I  can't  tell  you  what  a  gentle  look  in 
them." 

"  Did  he  say  anything  ?  " 

"  He  nodded  several  times,  and  then  he  said  : 
'  That  boy  is  sent  to  help  you.'  Oh,  you  can't  think 
how  lovely  it  was.  When  I  woke  up  I  could  feel  I 
had  been  crying." 

"  When  you  woke  up — why,  then,  it  was  only  a 
dream."     Egholm  was  deeply  disappointed. 

"  Dream  ?  No  ;  I  wasn't  asleep,  only  just  dozing, 
I  tell  you.  He  stood  there  as  plain  and  alive  as  you 
are  now." 

But  Egholm  went  on  with  his  soup.  And  he 
had  his  way.  He  was  to  go  off  that  very  day.  Sivert 
was  despatched  to  the  pawnbroker's  for  the  camera, 
and  while  he  waited,  Egholm  was  as  gentle  as  could 
be.  His  wife  could  not  remember  having  seen  him 
so  kind,  not  for  years  past.  He  took  one  of  the 
snowdrops  from  the  bedside — Hedvig,  with  her 
usual  readiness,  had  stolen  them  from  Eriksens' 
6 


82  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

garden  for  her  mother  —  and  put  it  in  his 
buttonhole. 

"  Good-bye,  dear,  and  take  care  of  yourself,"  said 
Egholm,  and  kissed  his  wife  on  both  cheeks. 

Anna  was  touched  at  so  much  gentleness.  The 
tears  flowed  from  her  eyes. 


VII 

As  Egholm  came  up  to  the  station,  he  caught 
sight  of  young  Karlsen.  He  was  pale,  and 
there  was  a  cut  on  the  bridge  of  his  nose, 
but  his  temper  was  of  the  best. 

"  Aha  !  "  he  said  artfully,  nudging  Egholm  with 
his  elbow.     "  Aha  !  "     And  he  grinned. 

That  nudge,  that  grin,  and  that  "  Aha  !  "  said 
much.  They  seemed  to  imply  that  Karlsen  and 
Egholm  had  a  pleasant — oh,  a  delightful  little  secret 
between  them. 

"  A  nice  way  you  treated  me  last  night,"  said 
Egholm.  He  would  have  spoken  more  forcibly,  a 
great  deal  more  forcibly,  but  his  mind  was  distracted 
by  the  thoughts  of  his  journey.  He  had  not  yet 
made  his  choice  of  where  to  go.  And  the  world 
was  wide.  "  I  hadn't  expected  that  of  you — after 
what  you  said.     You  know." 

"  Let  not  the  sun  go  down  upon  thy  wrath.  And 
— er — bless  them  that  curse  you,  and — er — put  up 
thy  sword  into  its  sheath,  for  .  .  .  Well,  anyhow. 
You  see,  the  old  man  wouldn't  hear  of  it.  It  was 
no  earthly  good.     He   said  he'd  resign   first.     Put 

yourself  in  my  place,  my  dear  fellow.     And  then  I 

83 


84  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

began  to  be  doubtful  myself,  too,  afterwards,  about 
it  all.  Come  and  have  a  drink.  You  look  as  if  you 
were  going  off  somewhere.     What's  on  now  ?  " 

"  Er — I'm  going  away,"  said  Egholm  nervously. 
"  Going  to  open  a  photographic  studio." 

"  Well,  I  never,"  said  Karlsen,  with  ungrudging 
wonder.  "  And  where's  it  going  to  be  ?  You  never 
said  a  word  about  that  before." 

"  I  had  a  studio  once  in  Copenhagen — 0stergade, 
a  splendid  position.  And  customers  accordingly. 
Made  any  amount  of  money.  This  time  I'm  going 
to  try — er — Knarrcby.  Quite  a  nice  little  place, 
don't  you  think  ?  " 

(There  !     Now  it  was  said.) 

"  Knarreby  ?     Oh  yes,  first-rate." 

They  went  into  the  waiting-room.  Egholm 
carried  the  camera  himself,  Sivert  following  behind 
him  with  the  handbag. 

"  Skaal,^  Egholm,  and  here's  to  burying  the 
hatchet.  Friends  again  now,  aren't  we  ?  We  were 
both  a  bit  upset  last  night,  and  didn't  know  quite 
what  we  were  doing.     Turn  the  other  cheek,  what  ?  " 

"  I  was  going  to,  only  you  were  holding  me 
behind." 

"  Ha  ha  !  That's  good.  Taking  it  literally,  as 
you  might  say.     That's  very  good.     Skaal !    Have 

'  "  Here's  luck."  The  word  is  widely  used  when  drinking,  as  a  saluta- 
tion ;  the  precise  equivalent  in  English  would  vary  with  the  company  and 
the  occasion. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  85 

another    of    these.      Yes ;    go    on.      I'm    sure    you 
can. 

Egholm  joined  in  the  laugh  at  his  own  jest.  Now 
that  he  had  finally  decided,  all  was  brightness  and 
freedom  ahead.  Away,  away,  like  a  bird  that  wakes 
to  find  its  cage  suddenly  open.  He  could  feel  no 
anger  against  anyone  now. 

"  Have  a  cigar,"  said  Karlsen.  There  was  no 
end  to  his  amiability  to-day, 

"  I  don't  smoke." 

"  Don't  you,  though  ?  I  say,  Egholm,  I  wonder 
if  you'd  be  above  doing  me  a  little  favour  ?  "  Karlsen 
bit  off  the  end  of  his  cigar. 

"  Certainly,  certainly."  Egholm  dived  willingly 
into  his  pocket  and  pulled  out  a  box  of  matches. 

"  Thanks — as  a  matter  of  fact,  it  wasn't  matches  so 
much  I  was  thinking  of.  Another  little  matter.  .  .  ." 
The  match  flared  and  flared. 

Egholm  happened  to  glance  at  the  other's  face. 
The  bright  black  eyes,  with  a  fan  of  wrinkles  out  to 
the  side,  reminded  him  of  fluttering  cockchafers. 
Why,  the  man  was  nervous  himself  !  His  hand  was 
shaking.  And  suddenly  he  brought  the  match  too 
close  to  his  beard.   .   .   . 

"  Of  all  the  cursed  .  .  .  H'm.  Well,  never 
mind. — Look  here,  Egholm,  you  couldn't  manage  to 
fix  up  another  youngster  at  your  place — a  baby  .? 
You've  quite  a  crowd  already  ;  it  wouldn't  be  noticed. 
It's  not  mine — ha  ha  !     No  ;  it's  Meilby's.     I  daresay 


86  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

he's  told  you.  .  .  .  Silly  thing  to  do — playing  with 
fire.  .  .  ." 

"  But  why  should  I  .  .  ." 

"  Ah,  that's  just  where  it  comes  in.  In  the 
first  place,  there's  no  one  I'd  sooner  trust  with  a 
little  angel  like  that,  than  you,  my  dear  friends. 
And,  in  the  second  place,  it'll  be  worth  something  to 
whoever  takes  it,  and  I'd  like  you  to  have  the  money. 
It'll  be  paid  for,  and  well  paid  for.  See  what  I 
mean  ?  " 

Egholm  was  alert  in  an  instant.  His  heart  was 
bubbling  over  with  gratified  malice.  He  put  on  a 
thoughtful  expression  as  he  took  his  ticket. 

"  Was  it  Meilby  that  put  you  on  to  me  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes  and  no.  He  comes  to  the  meetings, 
you  know,  so  I'd  like  to  help  him  if  I  can.  I  can't 
take  the  kid  myself,  you  understand.  The  mother's 
in  a  dairy  all  day." 

"  But  about  the  money,"  said  Egholm,  moving 
towards  the  train.     "  What's  it  worth  ?  " 

"  Oh,  any  amount,"  said  the  Evangelist.  In  his 
delight  at  finding  Egholm  so  amenable  to  his  plan, 
he  forgot  to  restrain  his  play  of  feature.  "  Hundred 
and  fifty  kroner  at  the  least.  Let  him  pay,  the 
beggar,  it's  his  own  fault,  and  I'll  give  him  a  talking-to. 
I  went  up  to  his  place  just  now,  by  the  way,  but  he 
wasn't  in." 

Egholm  was  in  his  seat.  The  train  was  ready  to 
start. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  87 

"  I'll  tell  you  where  he  is,"  said  Egholm,  with  a 
smile.  "  He's  on  his  way  to  America  by  now.  I  said 
good-bye  to  him  last  night." 

Young  Karlsen  was  not  used  to  being  made  a  fool 
of.  He  collapsed  as  the  train  moved  off  ;  he  waved 
a  clenched  fist  furiously  after  it,  and  shouted.  Then, 
turning  to  go,  he  discovered  Sivert. 

"  What  are  you  grinning  at,  you  young  devil  ?  " 

"  He's  forgotten  his  bag,"  said  Sivert,  shaking  his 
white  mop  of  hair  with  a  satisfied  smile. 

But  Karlsen  found  poor  comfort  in  that. 


VIII 

SIVERT  stood  in  the  smithy,  trembling  in  every 
limb  each  time  the  hammer  clanged  on  the 
iron  plate.  His  mother  had  just  gone,  and 
he  was  alone.  The  hammer  crashed  like  thunder, 
and  he  expected  every  moment  to  be  struck  by 
lightning. 

"  Look  to  your  work,"  said  the  blacksmith. 

Fru  Egholm  had  shaken  her  head  at  first,  when 
she  saw  there  was  a  boy  wanted  at  Dorn's  smithy. 
Sivert  a  blacksmith  ?  Never.  But  as  there  was  no 
other  job  to  be  found  in  all  Odense,  and  when  Dorn 
explained  that  he  wasn't  a  blacksmith  really,  but  a 
locksmith  and  general  metal  worker,  she  agreed, 
albeit  with  some  mistrust. 

The  boy  stood  holding  a  metal  plate,  his  master 
cutting  through  it  along  chalkcd-out  lines.  It  was 
to  be  a  weathercock,  in  the  shape  of  a  horse.  Sud- 
denly— just  at  an  awkward  turn — the  plate  slipped, 
and  the  smith  snipped  off  one  lifted  foreleg. 

For  a  second  or  two  he  seethed  like  a  glowing  bar 
of  iron  thrust  into  water.  A  box  on  the  ears  was  not 
enough.  .  .  . 

"  Here,  Valdemar  !  "  he  cried  to  his  man.     "  Take 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  89 

hold  of  the  little  beast,  and  we'll  cut  his  fingers  off. 
That's  it.     So  !  " 

Sivert  wriggled  and  screamed,  and  even  tried 
to  kick.  But  the  man  behind  only  crushed  him  the 
harder  in  his  blouse-clad  arms,  till  the  boy's  limbs  hung 
limply  down  and  his  voice  died  to  a  hoarse  gasp. 

The  smith  opened  the  little  white-knuckled 
hand  with  a  grip  as  if  shelling  peas,  and  drew  one 
linger  between  the  shears,  but  managing  carefully 
so  that  the  boy  could  wrench  it  away  at  the  critical 
moment. 

This,  of  course,  prolonged  the  joke,  and  made  it 
all  the  funnier. 

The  man,  too,  began  to  find  it  interesting  ;  his 
dull  eyes  glittered  like  molten  metal  newly  set. 
There  was  a  kind  of  anticipation  in  his  mind — he 
realised  that  he  would  find  considerable  enjoyment 
in  having  Sivert  all  to  himself  when  they  went  up 
to  the  bedroom  they  were  to  share  at  nights.  It  was 
but  a  vague  thought  as  yet,  a  blind  and  pale  Proteus 
moving  uncertainly  in  the  secret  passages  of  his 
mind. 

At  dinner,  while  master  and  man  sat  over  their 
porridge,  Sivert  was  busy  peeling  potatoes  for  the 
next  course.  He  sat  on  the  wood  box  out  in  the 
kitchen,  a  tiny  place,  which  was  filled  with  the  odour 
of  Madam  Dorn.  She  was  the  hugcst  piece  of  woman- 
kind Sivert  had  ever  seen,  and  full  of  curious  noises. 
Every    other    moment    there    came    a    threatening 


90  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

rumble  from  within  like  an  approaching  hurricane — 
perhaps  she  was  hungry,  too — then  she  would  clear 
her  throat  with  a  thick,  full  sound,  that  seemed 
to  rise  from  unknown  depths.  Sivert  made  the 
surprising  discovery  that  her  posterior  part  re- 
sembled a  huge  heart  when  she  bent  down.  Was 
that  perhaps  an  indication  of  general  kindliness  ? 

Now  and  again  she  came  over  to  where  he  sat, 
and  thrust  her  fingers  down  among  the  potatoes,  to 
see  if  there  were  enough  done  yet. 

It  was  a  long,  long  time  before  the  kitchen  door 
opened,  and  the  two  superior  beings  within  said, 
*'  Tak  for  Madr  ^  Not  till  then  could  Sivert  fall 
to  upon  the  crumbs  from  their  richer  table — a 
draggled  herring  and  a  few  diseased  potatoes. 

"  It's  a  funny  big  world,"  thought  Sivert,  "  but 
seems  mainly  alike  in  most  things."  His  father's 
thrashings  had  been  delivered  with  more  solemnity 
than  his  present  master's  clouts,  but  then,  on  the 
other  hand,  Father  would  never  have  left  a  whole 
herring. 

He  had  just  finished  washing  up  when  the  smith 
woke  from  his  afternoon  nap.  "  Kept  up  with  him 
that  time,"  thought  Sivert,  with  some  pride. 

Evening  came,  after  an  endless  day.  Sivert  had 
had  his  supper,  and  was  standing  with  the  bucket  of 
leavings  out  by  the  pigs'  trough,  when  he  saw  the 

'  "  Thanks  for  the  meal  " — a  formality  addressed  to  iiousewife  or  liostess 
on  rising  from  table,  used  more  especially  among  working  people. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  91 

journeyman  striding  out  through  the  gate — a  sight 
to  see,  with  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes  and  a  cigar 
between  his  teeth  pointing  upwards.  The  boy  wept 
with  emotion  at  seeing  him  go — that  strangling  brute. 
Ah,  the  day  was  over  now.  He  would  have  peace 
at  last.     He  could  go  to  bed. 

The  pigs  sniffed  at  the  empty  bucket,  and  grunted 
encouragingly.  Sivert  was  overjoyed  with  the  pigs 
— he  had  made  friends  with  them  already,  after 
dinner.     There  were  two  of  them,  one  black. 

He  clambered  up  on  the  partition,  and  talked 
confidentially  to  them  about  the  events  of  the 
day. 

"  Now,  don't  you  think  I'm  crying,  because  I'm 
not.  Not  a  bit  of  it.  I  promised  mother  I  wouldn't. 
I  was  only  wiping  my  nose,  and  you  thought  I  was 
crying — ha  ha,  I  did  you  there  !  And  I'm  not  home- 
sick, no  ;  only  making  a  little  invisible  sound,  the 
same  as  when  you're  homesick.  It's  a  trick  I've 
learnt,  and  it's  not  everybody  can  do  it.  Just 
listen.  .  .  .  No ;  you've  got  to  be  quiet.  You  make 
worse  noises  than  Madam  Dorn.  Homesick  ?  What 
for,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  Father  in  Knarreby  ? 
I  tell  you  I'm  not  fretting  for  him  a  single  bit.  Still, 
he  couldn't  do  anything  to  me  about  the  bag  ;  he 
never  said  I  was  to  put  it  in  the  train. 

"Homesick  ?  For  Hedvig,  perhaps?  She's  not 
really  warm  to  sleep  with,  you  know,  and  she  always 
pulls  the  clothes  off  me.     Oh,   but  of  course  you 


92  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

don't  know  Hedvig.  She's  my  sister — a  girl,  you 
understand.  .  .  ." 

Sivert  realised  on  a  sudden  that  between  his 
knowledge  and  that  of  his  hearers  was  a  great  gulf 
fixed.  He  fell  to  laughing,  and  then  shook  his  head 
contemptuously. 

"  As  like  as  not  you  don't  even  know  what  sort 
of  thing  a  girl  is  at  all.  Poor  silly  pigs  that  you  are. 
Now,  I  know  all  the  things  there  are  in  the  world. 
But  I  was  stupid  myself  once." 

A  little  before  eleven  he  clambered  up  to  the 
attic,  his  own  bedroom,  the  one  thing  that  had 
tempted  him  most  of  all  when  his  mother  had  pointed 
out  what  he  would  gain  by  going  out  into  the  world, 
instead  of  staying  at  home. 

"  And  you'll  have  your  own  room,  with  a  big 
bed  you  can  turn  about  in  whenever  you  like  and 
as  much  as  you  like,  with  no  one  to  pinch  you  for 
being  a  nuisance.  And  you  can  cut  out  pictures 
and  stick  them  up  on  the  walls,  and  on  Sundays  you 
can  pick  flowers  and  put  them  in  water  to  last  all 
the  week.  And  then  when  the  mistress  comes  up 
to  make  the  bed,  she'll  say  :  '  Why,  what  a  nice  lad 
we've  got,  now.     Picking  flowers.  .  .  .'  " 

He  was  much  puzzled  to  find  that  there  were  two 
beds,  and  neither  of  them  made.  Mistress  must 
have  forgotten  it.  And  what  on  earth  was  he  to 
do  with  two  beds  ?  Perhaps  the  boy  they  had  had 
before  used  to  lie  in  one  of  them  till  it  got  warm ; 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  93 

and  then  shift  over  to  the  other.  That  way,  of 
course,  you  could  keep  them  both  warm.  But  .  .  . 
No.  Sivert  decided  not.  Much  better  to  save  the 
wear  of  them,  and  only  sleep  in  one.  Mistress,  no 
doubt,  would  appreciate  that,  and  praise  him  for  it. 

He  noticed,  certainly,  that  there  were  some 
clothes  on  a  chair,  and  a  trunk  between  one  bed 
and  the  window,  but  all  unused  as  he  was  to  the 
ways  of  out-in-the-world,  he  thought  nothing  of  it. 
There  were  often  things  lying  about  at  home  here 
and  there.  After  much  consideration,  he  chose  one 
of  the  beds,  and  sank  to  sleep. 

Late  that  night  came  journeyman  locksmith 
Valdemar  August  Olsen  home,  quite  appreciably 
drunk.  He  stopped  singing  as  he  entered  the 
gate,  and  took  off  his  boots  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 
moved,  no  doubt,  by  some  vestige  of  respect  from 
his  apprentice  days. 

He  did  not  seem  to  need  a  light,  but  sat  down 
on  Sivert's  bed,  talking  softly  to  himself.  Suddenly 
he  felt  something  alive  under  the  bedclothes,  and 
started  up,  almost  sobered  by  the  fright.  He  fumbled 
for  matches,  and  a  moment  later  was  staring  into  the 
face  of  a  pale,  whitish-haired  boy,  who  sat  up  in  bed 
with  wide,  terror-stricken  eyes. 

Olsen  waved  the  match  till  it  went  out,  and  threw 
away  the  stump.  The  boy  must  not  see  him  quake. 
That  bed  there — it  had  been  empty  for  three  months 
past,  ever  since  Boy  Sofus  ran  away. 


94  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

"  Ha,  frightened  you,  what  ?  " 

"Yes." 

Olsen  called  vaguely  to  mind  the  interesting 
episode  of  the  morning  ;  he  lit  the  lamp,  and  sat 
down  again  on  the  edge  of  Sivert's  bed. 

"  No  need  to  be  frightened  of  me.  I  shan't  hurt 
you." 

He  thrust  his  hand  under  the  bedclothes,  and 
stroked  the  child's  knobby  spine.  It  gave  him  a 
curious  sensation,  something  promising  and  yet 
uncanny.  He  had  felt  like  that  once  before,  when 
he  had  bought  a  bottle  of  spirits  for  the  night, 
but  mislaid  it. 

Drowsy  as  he  was,  but  still  obstinate,  he  sat  like 
a  beast  of  prey,  watching  his  time.  Now  and  again 
he  sniffed  at  Sivert's  scalp — he  had  noticed  the  smell 
of  it  that  morning  when  he  was  holding  him. 

"What  d'you  want  to  have  long  hair  like  that 
for  ?  "  he  asked. 

Sivert  felt  it  would  be  dangerous  to  be  at  a  loss 
for  an  answer.  And,  diving  swiftly  into  the  primeval 
forest  growth  of  his  mind,  he  snatched  the  first  fruit 
that  came  to  hand. 

"  That's  for  the  executioner  to  hold  on  by,  when 
he's  cut  off  the  body,"  he  said. 

"  Executioner — what  the  devil  ! — cut  off  the 
body.     It's  the  head  that's  cut  off,  stupid." 

"  Oh,"  said  Sivert.     "  Not  the  body,  then  ?  " 

But  Valdemar  August  felt  strangely  confused  in 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  95 

his  mind.  He  tried  again  and  again  to  see  that 
curious  question  clearly,  but  in  vain.  Then  he  gave 
it  up,  and  began  talking  at  random  of  the  days  when 
he  was  out  on  his  travels,  after  ending  his  apprentice- 
ship, some  ten  years  before. 

He  had  passed  through  no  end  of  towns,  lodged 
in  all  sorts  of  places.  He  told  of  it  all  in  short, 
descriptive  sentences,  always  beginning  with  the 
words  :  "  And  then  .  .  ." 

"  And  then  we  came  over  to  Jutland — and  then 
we  went  down  to  Kolding — and  then  my  mate  said 
.  .  .  and  then  said  I  .  .  ." 

He  had  set  out  on  his  travels  with  a  receptive 
mind,  and  had  seen  and  experienced  much.  It  was 
not  just  ordinary  things  such  as  the  position  and 
"  sights  "  of  the  different  towns  that  had  impressed 
him,  but  each  place  was  associated  with  some  new 
and  remarkable  experience,  vicious  for  the  most  part, 
that  came  to  his  mind  anew  as  soon  as  he  named  the 
scene. 

Sivert  dropped  off  to  sleep  for  a  second  at  a  time, 
between  the  intervals  of  Olsen's  recurrent  "  And 
then  .  .  ."  He  understood  but  little  of  it  all,  but 
was  grateful  to  find  no  immediate  prospect  of  thrash- 
ing or  strangling.  If  only  he  weren't  so  sleepy,  and 
so  horribly  cold.  And  how  long  was  it  to  last  ? 
Olsen  was  telling  now  of  an  inn  where  they  had 
found  a  dead  rat  in  a  steaming  dish  of  cabbage,  and 
of  how  they  had  paid  the  host  in  his  own  coin. 


96  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

He  laughed  at  the  joyous  recollection,  and  nudged 
the  boy  in  the  ribs.  His  imagination  grew  more 
fertile,  he  used  ever  stranger  words,  until  at  last 
Sivert  began  to  wake  up,  and  feel  amused.  Evidently 
this  Olsen  was  a  merry  soul,  though  it  was  hard  to 
make  him  out  at  first. 

Suddenly  Olsen  jumped  up,  and  began  dancing 
about  in  the  half-dark  in  his  ill-mended  socks,  making 
the  queerest  antics.  Sivert  took  advantage  of  a  burst 
of  laughter  to  bury  his  tired  head  among  the  pillows, 
but  a  sudden  silence  made  him  open  one  eye  warily 
and  peer  out  into  the  room. 

Olsen  was  standing  over  him,  looking  wilder  and 
more  incomprehensible  than  ever.  Sivert  was 
paralysed  with  fear.  He  was  about  to  scream,  but 
thought  better  of  it — perhaps,  after  all,  it  was  not  so 
bad  but  that  he  could  turn  it  off  with  a  grin.  And 
with  an  utmost  effort,  he  broke  into  a  fine  imitation  of 
a  hiccuping  laugh. 

Then  Olsen's  rough  hand  closed  over  his  mouth. 


IX 


WHAT  seemed  most  remarkable  of  all  to  Sivert 
was  that  there  was  never  anything  strange 
about  Olsen's  manner  in  the  daytime,  even 
when  the  smith  was  not  there. 

Olsen  by  day  was  simply  brutal,  like  any  ordinary 
man  ;  his  eyes,  that  glittered  so  insanely  in  the 
dark,  looked  out  in  daylight  with  a  gleam  of  un- 
adulterated cruelty  from  under  the  brow  they  shared 
in  common.  And  the  hand  that  stroked  him  so 
affectionately  could  land  out  a  blow  that  would  make 
his  ears  tingle  all  day. 

For  a  time  Sivert  endeavoured  to  persuade 
himself  that  it  was  merely  nightmare.  But  there 
were  things  that  could  not  be  so  explained.  And  he 
bore  his  horror  alone,  for  his  mother  misunder- 
stood the  hints  he  threw  out,  owing  to  the  fact 
that  Sivert,  as  was  his  custom,  assured  her  that 
Olsen  did  not  do  so-and-so. 

"  I  should  think  not,  indeed.  It's  wicked  even 
to  think  such  things." 

"  But  I  can't  help  it." 

"  Then  say  your  prayers  properly  and  earnestly, 
and  God  will  help  you  all  right." 
7 


98  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

"  I  say  my  prayers  like  anything,  every  night. 
But  Olsen's  ever  so  strong,  and  it's  no  good.  God 
can't  manage  him,  I  suppose." 

"  Sivert  !  " 

"  Or  perhaps  God  doesn't  trouble  about  things 
as  much  as  people  say." 

"  Sivert,  now  be  a  good  child,  do.  Do  you 
think  God  doesn't  trouble  about  us  ?  Why,  look, 
what  a  lovely  boy  He's  given  us  now.  .  .  ."  Fru 
Egholm  lifted  the  coverlet  aside,  to  show  the  baby's 
face.  "  Isn't  he  sweet  ?  And  so  healthy  he  looks. 
I  think  he'll  be  fair  haired." 

"  But  you  promised  me  I  was  to  be  the  only  fair- 
haired  boy  ?  " 

"  I'd  like  to  have  as  many  of  them  as  I  can. 
They're  the  best  sort.  And,  you  know,  Abel  was 
fair  haired,  but  Cain  was  dark." 

"  Just  like  Father  !  " 

"  Oh,  child,  how  can  you  say  such  a  thing  !  "  Fru 
Egholm  chattered  on  to  cover  her  confusion.  What 
a  head  the  child  had,  to  be  sure. 

The  little  one  in  the  cradle  awoke,  and  set  up  a 
faint  cry  like  the  bleating  of  a  lamb.  His  mother 
took  him  up  to  her  breast. 

Sivert  looked  on  with  an  expression  of  intense 
disgust. 

"  That's  enough — that's  enough,"  he  said  again 
and  again,  his  eyes  straining  awry  in  consuming 
envy. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  99 

"  Mother,  let's  break  it  up,  let's  tear  it  to  bits, 
before  it  gets  any  bigger." 

"  What  do  you  think  your  father  would  say  to 
that  ?  "  said  his  mother,  with  a  smile. 

Sivert  started ;  he  had  not  thought  of  that 
difficult  side  of  the  question. 

"  Couldn't  we  say  it  had  got  lost  somehow  ? 
No,  I  know  ;  we'll  tell  him  there  never  was  but  me 
and  Hedvig.  He  won't  remember.  And  then  we 
can  show  him  me,  and  ask  if  that's  the  one  he  means. 
Oh,  may  we,  dear  little  darling  mother  ?  "  And  he 
stretched  out  his  hand  for  the  child. 

"  Just  listen  and  I'll  tell  you  what  Father  says," 
said  his  mother,  feeling  in  a  pocket  of  her  dress. 

Sivert's  face  darkened  ;  he  stared  anxiously  at 
the  letter. 

"  My  dear  Anna, — Excuse  my  long  silence,  but 
I  have  got  things  settled  now,  and  every  day  feeling 
happier  for  the  change.  Karlsen,  the  EvangeHst, 
has  been  a  nightmare  to  me,  but  now  I  am  awake 
once  more,  and  drink  in  the  fresh  air  and  feel  myself 
another  man.  And  only  fancy — my  -powers  of  in- 
vention, that  I  thought  were  dead,  have  come  back 
again  stronger  than  before.  You  remember  I  used 
to  say  I  was  as  the  hand  of  God  here  on  earth.  I  am 
to  go  over  the  work,  file  away  at  it  and  make  it  even 
— in  a  word,  improve  the  whole  world,  that  He  created 
great  and  rich  and  round,  it  is  true,  but  rough  at  the 
edges.  In  my  innermost  self,  and  right  out  to  my 
fingertips,  I  feci  conscious  of  this  as  my  calling.     If 


loo  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

I  only  go  for  a  little  walk  with  the  wind  against  me, 
I  feel  my  powers  in  urgent  movement.  Now,  the 
friction  exerted  by  the  wind  could  be  reduced  to 
one-seventh  by  means  of  a  little  invention  of  mine. 
I  can  tell  you,  there  is  a  great  time  ahead.  But  it 
is  not  this  that  occupies  my  mind  just  now,  but 
something  else.  A  machine.  I  dare  not  set  down  on 
paper  what  it  is.  Only  this  :  be  sure  that  all  the 
taps  and  other  parts  of  the  steam  wagon,  my  old 
construction,  are  sent  to  me  here  as  soon  as  possible. 
I  must  try  my  wings  now  ;  I  feel  myself  free.  Free 
as  a  bird." 

"  So  I  should  think,"  murmured  Fru  Egholm. 
"  With  no  wife  and  children  or  anything  else  to  look 
after.     Well,  thank  goodness  that's  not  all." 

"  I  believe  God  Himself  has  led  me  to  this  place, 
and  guided  my  footsteps  in  the  way." 

"  Yes,  I  daresay — but  who  was  it  went  down  on 
her  knees  a  hundred  times  and  prayed  God  to  deliver 
you  out  of  that  Angel  creature's  claws  ?  " 

Fru  Egholm  knew  the  letter  by  heart  from  end 
to  end.  Nevertheless,  each  line  affected  her  now  as 
strongly  as  if  read  for  the  first  time.  Even  then, 
despite  her  critical  opposition  to  the  present  passage, 
she  was  already  feeling  for  her  handkerchief,  ready 
for  the  touching  part  she  knew  was  just  ahead. 

"  I    have    fitted  up  a  splendid  little  studio  in  a 
carpenter's  place.     Do  you  think  anyone  in  Odcnse 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  loi 

would  ever  have  given  me  credit  for  the  rent,  and 
paid  for  a  glass  roof  into  the  bargain  and  all  that  ? 
When  I  came  into  the  town  the  first  day,  it  was 
like  a  triumphal  march.  I  walked  down  from  the 
station  with  a  man,  and  asked  him  if  he  knew  a 
place  where  I  could  put  up.  '  Yes,'  said  he  ;  '  you 
can  stay  at  Vang's  hotel.  My  name's  Henrik  Vang  ; 
it's  my  father  owns  the  place.'  I  shook  my  head, 
thinking  of  my  3  kroner  50  that  was  all  I  had. 
But  he  said  I  could  fix  my  own  price  ;  he'd  look  after 
that  all  right.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  luck  ?  We 
spent  the  whole  evening  together,  in  the  restaurant, 
and  all  the  notables  of  the  town  were  there.  He 
told  them  to  put  it  all  on  his  bill.  While  I  think 
of  it — be  sure  to  send  my  embroidered  waistcoat 
and  the  small  boots,  if  you  can  manage  it.  They're 
only  in  for  a  small  sum,  and  you  should  be  able  to 
get  them  out  all  right,  now  you  haven't  got  me  to 
feed.  .  .  ." 

"  Only  a  small  sum !  Heh !  Embroidered 
waistcoat  and  creaky  boots — no,  my  good  man,  you 
won't  get  them,  and  that's  flat." 

But  now  came  the  part  that  filled  Fru  Egholm 
with  joy  and  pride.  Egholm  wrote  that  he  had  been 
thinking  much  about  the  vision  she  had  had  on  the 
night  the  child  was  born.  It  would  be  as  well  to 
give  the  child  a  name  that  should  remind  the  Lord 
of  His  promise.     He  would  suggest  EmatiueL 

Was  there  ever  such  a  thoughtful  creature  in 
the  world  ?  And  it  was  the  first  time  Egholm  had 
ever  troubled  himself  to  think  of  a  name  for  any  of 


102  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

the  children.     But  perhaps  he  was  a  different  man 
now.     For  he  wrote  further  : 

"  The  country  round  here  is  lovely.  Only  two 
minutes'  walk  from  my  studio  down  to  the  shore. 
Might  easily  have  a  little  sailing  boat  there,  all  ready 
to  hand.  I  often  go  down  there,  but  only  for  a 
minute  at  a  time — there  might  be  people  coming 
up  while  I  was  out.  You  must  see  and  come  over 
soon.     I  am  longing  for  you,  dearest  Anna.  .  .  ." 

*'  And  I'm  longing,  too,"  said  Fru  Egholm,  using 
her  handkerchief.  "  Man  and  wife  should  be  one, 
as  they  say.  But  what  about  you  young  ones  ? 
Hedvig  ought  surely  to  be  able  to  get  a  place  in 
Knarreby,  no  worse  than  the  one  she's  got.  It's  you 
that's  the  trouble,  Sivert  lad." 

"  Olsen's  a  good  enough  hand  at  thrashing,  but 
I  think  Father  beats  him  at  using  hard  words,"  said 
Sivert  judicially. 

The  matter  was  not  one  to  be  settled  out  of  hand. 
Money  was  not  the  only  difficulty.  Fru  Egholm 
had  gradually  worked  up  quite  a  decent  business 
connection  with  the  sewing  of  grave-clothes.  One 
day  she  had  made  i  kroner  Sj  ore,  net  earnings. 
And  a  business  like  that  was  not  to  be  lightly 
thrown  away. 

Hedvig  was  getting  on  nicely,  at  school  and  in 
her  situation,  and  Sivert's  curious  revelations  grew 
less  frequent. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  103 

Indeed,  the  boy  suffered  less  now  from  the  atten- 
tions of  his  tormentor  at  the  smithy  than  at  first. 
There  were  always  the  wonderful  stories  to  begin 
with,  and  these  he  took  as  a  kind  of  compensation 
for  what  followed.  Olsen  had  also  a  book  which 
he  would  bring  out  on  rare  occasions.  It  was 
a  crumpled  rag  to  look  at,  from  the  outside. 
But  within  were  marvels.  Sivert's  eyes  glowed 
when  Olsen  took  it  out  of  the  drawer.  It  was 
his  journeyman's  book,  at  once  a  passport  and  a 
register. 

Page  after  page,  the  stamp  and  signatures  of  the 
police — the  State  Authorities,  no  less.  One  stamp 
for  every  imaginable  town. 

Sivert  was  dumb  with  emotion.  Even  Olsen's 
voice  shook.  And  in  the  middle  of  showing  it,  he 
would  sometimes  snatch  up  the  book  with  an  oath 
and  hide  it  jealously  against  his  naked  breast,  only 
to  draw  it  forth  lovingly  a  moment  later.  It  was 
as  if  he  could  not  bear  the  glorious  vision  for  more 
than  a  little  glimpse  at  a  time. 

It  was  a  treasure  of  almost  inconceivable  value, 
was  that  book.  Better  to  lose  one's  own  head  than 
that,  for,  once  lost,  the  unfortunate  owner  would  be 
put  in  prison  on  the  spot.  On  the  other  hand, 
whoever  held  such  a  book,  duly  stamped  and  signed 
and  in  order,  might  wander  the  whole  world  over, 
and  none  should  dare  to  touch  a  hair  of  his 
head. 


104  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

In  the  front  of  the  book  was  something  more 
wonderful  even  than  the  police  stamps.  Sivert  had 
been  three  times  granted  a  sight  of  it.  Nothing 
less  than  a  painting  in  words  of  the  owner  of  the 
book.  The  boy  grew  giddy  at  the  thought  that 
in  five  years'  time  he,  too,  might  attain  a  like 
distinction. 

"  Height — 58  inches. 
Hair — black. 

Eyes — brown  (eyebrows  meeting  in  centre). 
Nose — ordinary." 

Sivert  turned  his  eyes  from  the  book  to  the 
living  Olsen  before  him  ;  it  was  a  marvel  that 
anyone  could  have  hit  off  the  description  thus  to 
a  hair. 

But  then  came  the  best  of  all  : 

"  Any  distinctive  marks  :  Has  six  toes  on  each 
jootr 

Olsen  threw  back  his  head,  and  set  his  lips 
sternly.  Yes,  he  had  six  toes ;  it  was  perfectly  true. 
And  why  shouldn't  he  ?  What,  didn't  believe  it  ? 
Well,  then,  look  here  ! 

Off  came  Olsen's  socks,  and  Sivert,  in  humble 
amazement,  counted  the  whole  dozen.  True,  the 
outermost  toe  was  no  giant,  but  rather  a  tiny  blind 
thing  that  clung  to  the  next.  There  was  no  nail 
to  it,  yet  it  was  undoubtedly  a  toe.  A  whole  limb 
additional  ! 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  105 

Sivert  counted  his  own  inferior  equipment  again 
and  again  by  night,  and  in  course  of  time  developed 
a  fine  gift  of  counting  them  wrong. 

"  Why  don't  they  write  down  about  your  inside  ?  " 
he  ventured  to  ask. 

"  They  can't.     That's  private,"  answered  Olsen. 


X 

HENRIK  VANG  loved  a  soft,  easy  seat,  and 
from  his  very  first  visit  he  had  chosen  to  sit 
down  in  the  middle  of  Egholm's  iron  bed. 
Sometimes,  when  it  was  cold,  he  would  pull  the  bed- 
.  clothes  up  over  his  legs,  right  to  his  throat.  Egholm 
did  not  mind.  He  preferred  to  walk  up  and  down 
the  floor,  listening  to  his  own  voice.  It  was  rarely 
but  he  had  some  new  strange  plan  or  invention  in 
his  head. 

To-day,  however,  he  was  nervous,  and  void  of 
ideas.  Anna  was  coming  by  the  midday  train. 
Consequently,  he  found  nothing  now  to  talk  of  but 
old,  worn-out  themes.  Of  the  Brethren,  who  had 
cheated  him  out  of  all  that  money.  Of  his  great 
Day  of  Reckoning  with  those  same  Brethren,  and 
how  they  had  risen  up  and  cast  him  forth,  together 
with  one  Meilby,  a  photographer. 

"  He  was  something  like  you,  Vang,  by  the  way, 
was  Meilby.  Same  light  hair,  and  eyes  —  and 
especially  in  the  look  of  them.  Now,  anyone  not 
seeing  that  great  big  body  of  yours  would  say  you 
weren't  grown  up  yet.  But  Meilby,  he  was  younger, 
and  not  so  heavy  built,  perhaps." 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  107 

"  Was  he  married  ?  " 

"  No,  but  he  .  .  ." 

"  Then  he  wasn't  like  me." 

"  Ha  ha — but  he  was,  though,  on  my  word.  The 
voice,  too.  Same  rumbling  sort  of  way,  as  if  that 
wasn't  properly  set  either." 

"Anyhow,  he  wasn't  married,  so  he  wasn't  like  me. 
She's  been  talking  to  Father  again.  Asking  him  to 
turn  me  out.  I  don't  know  if  she  wants  me  to  die  of 
hunger.     For  she  never  gives  me  anything  herself." 

"  Well,  you  know,  Vang,"  laughed  Egholm, 
"  you're  not  exactly  a  model  husband,  either. 
Women  like  being  made  a  fuss  of  now  and  then. 
Now  me,  for  instance.  Here's  my  wife  coming  to- 
day, and  what  do  I  do  ?  Go  up  to  the  station 
myself  to  meet  her.     See  ?  " 

Egholm  looked  at  his  watch,  and  felt  uncom- 
fortable. Again  he  had  forgotten  the  time.  The 
train  must  be  in  by  now,  and  Anna  would  be  left 
standing  there,  utterly  strange  to  the  place.  .  .  . 

He  left  Vang  in  the  nest  he  had  made,  and  hurried 
out. 

Annoyance  at  the  little  misfortune  was  but  a 
herald  for  the  host  of  black  thoughts  that  had  been 
gathering  in  Egholm's  mind  ever  since  the  day  when, 
in  a  weak — a  very  weak — moment,  he  had  written 
to  Anna  to  come. 

Now,  was  it  nice,  was  it  decent  of  her,  to  take 
advantage  of  a  momentary  lapse  like  that  ? 


io8  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

Anyhow,  it  was  too  late  now.  The  thing  was 
done.  Good-bye  to  freedom — he  had  himself  turned 
back  to  seek  his  fetters.  Anna  would  be  there,  right 
enough,  standing  on  the  platform  ready  to  clap  the 
handcuffs  on  him  once  more. 

And  now,  just  as  things  were  beginning  to  move  ! 
With  a  wife  and  two  hungry  children  to  drag  about 
after  him,  it  would  be  stagnation  once  more,  however 
he  might  put  his  shoulder  to  the  work. 

The  gravel  path  leading  to  the  station  had  been 
newly  planted  with  trees,  poor,  scraggy  things,  more 
like  the  brooms  on  the  buoys  outside  the  harbour. 
And  now  they  had  to  feel  about  with  their  roots 
through  the  hard  earth.  It  would  be  ages  before 
they  grew  to  be  tall  and  strong,  with  broad  leafy 
crowns.  And  they  were  young — but  he  was  no 
longer  young,  and  his  strength  had  been  wasted 
in  many  a  barren  soil. 

Egholm  clasped  his  hands  under  his  cloak,  and 
prayed  : 

"  Lord,  spare  Thy  servant.  Take  away  this  cup 
from  me.  Let  it  be  so  that,  when  I  come  to  the 
station,  I  may  wake  up  out  of  a  painful  dream. 
No  wife  and  children  at  all.  Lord,  hear  Thy 
servant ;  hear  him  for  that  he  suffered  for  the 
sake  of  Thy  word,  at  the  hands  of  the  Brethren 
in  Odense  !  " 

He  writhed  his  bony  fingers,  and  looked  up  to 
the   blue  March  sky.     How  grateful  he  would  be  ; 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  109 

how  he  would  fall  down  and  bend  his  forehead  to 
the  earth,  if  his  prayer  should  be  heard  ! 

But,  alas,  they  would  surely  be  there — Anna? 
Sivert,  and  Hedvig.  Yes  ;  they  would  be  there,  never 
fear. 

It  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  he  could  not 
remember  the  children's  faces.  All  he  could  call  to 
mind  of  Hedvig  was  her  keen  grey  eyes,  and  Sivert 
was  associated  chiefly  with  the  grating  sound  of  a 
little  saw.  But  that  sound  was  so  vividly  present 
in  his  mind  that  he  lashed  out  with  his  stick,  by  way 
of  relief.  It  was  a  reflex  movement,  a  case  of  cause 
and  effect. 

Egholm  had  expected  to  find  his  family  on  the 
steps  of  the  station,  but  there  was  no  one  there.  The 
whole  place  looked  dead  and  deserted.  The  omnibus 
horse  stood  drowsing  in  its  tether,  while  the  driver? 
Red  Jeppe,  jested  with  the  waitress  at  the  bar.  No 
one  on  the  platform  but  a  group  of  girls.  And  it 
was  already  half-past  twelve  by  the  clock. 

Strange — very  strange. 

He  drifted  up  to  a  porter,  and  asked  : 

"  The  train  from  Odense — has  it  come  in  yet  ?  " 

"  She's  broken  down  at  Aaby.     A  nasty  mess." 

"  Broken  down  !  " 

"  Yes.     Engine  off  the  line,  and  .  .  ." 

Oh !  Egholm  felt  a  nasty  blow  at  his  heart. 
So  God — or  was  it  Satan  ? — had  heard  his  prayer 
for  once.     With  an  ashy  face  he  asked  again  : 


no  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

"  Nobody  hurt,  I  hope  ? "  And  the  answer 
seemed  to  flash  on  him  as  a  vision  :  Anna  stretched 
out  on  a  canvas  bier,  her  thick  hair  matted  with 
blood. 

"  Hurt  ?  Oh,  Lord,  no,"  said  the  porter.  "  Only 
the  engine  turned  off  down  the  wrong  track,  and 
stuck  in  the  gravel."  He  yawned  hungrily.  "You're 
not  the  only  one  hanging  about  here  waiting  for 
their  blessed  trains.  .  .  ." 

Egholm  felt  a  strange  weakness  in  the  legs,  and 
sat  down.  The  signal  bell  rang — train  due  in  ten 
minutes.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  the  station  had 
suddenly  brightened  up.  Quite  cheerful  all  at  once. 
Those  girls  there,  for  instance,  with  lovely  new  boots 
on.  And  laughing  all  the  time.  The  one  on  the 
outside  leaned  right  over  to  listen  when  the  others 
whispered.  Well,  well,  a  good  thing  everyone 
wasn't  miserable. 

And  there — there  was  a  man  coming  out  of  the 
waiting-room — a  tall,  fat  man  with  rather  thin  legs 
— a  commercial  traveller.  He  didn't  look  pleased  at 
all,  but  dragged  at  his  two  bags  like  a  convict  in 
irons.  Then,  at  sight  of  the  girls,  he  stopped  and 
drew  himself  up,  anxious  to  be  seen. 

He  draws  a  mirror  and  a  tiny  brush  from  his 
pocket,  and  wields  them  like  a  virtuoso.  Then  a 
cigar-case,  and  next  a  smart  little  contrivance  for 
cutting  off  the  end  ;  another  little  case,  with  matches 
in.     Evidently  he  is  trying  to  impress  those  girls  with 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  iii 

an  idea  that  he  is  a  sort  of  original  chest  of  drawers, 
with  all  manner  of  cases  and  shiny,  interesting  things 
Inside.  And  he  succeeds.  The  girls  stop  talking, 
and  look  at  him,  to  see  what  will  happen  next.  But 
after  a  little  they  fall  to  laughing  again. 

When  the  train  rolled  in,  Fru  Egholm,  standing 
at  the  window  of  a  compartment  beyond  the  end 
of  the  platform,  saw  her  husband  come  running 
down  the  length  of  the  carriages,  eagerly,  with 
delighted  eyes. 

Hurriedly  she  took  leave  of  a  couple  of  women 
fellow-travellers.  They  had  lived  together  for  the 
past  three  or  four  hours,  and  suddenly  that  was 
over.  .  .  . 

Egholm  clambered  up  on  tj^e  footboard,  and 
found  a  pleasant  surprise.     Sivert  was  not  there  ! 

True,  there  was  little  Emanuel,  whom  he  had 
forgotten  altogether  for  the  moment.  But  then 
Emanuel  was  the  child  of  victory.  Or  at  least  it 
was  reasonable  here,  as  ever,  of  two  evils  to  choose 
the  lesser. 

Anna  was  a  little  puffy  and  dark  under  the  eyes, 
but  her  cheeks  were  flushed  with  excitement.  She 
and  Hedvig  handed  out  an  endless  array  of  packages, 
a  lamp,  some  pictures,  and  the  family  treasure — the 
cut-glass  bowl.  One  of  the  parcels  was  soft  and 
round,  and  Anna  proffered  it  with  a  warning  : 

"  Be  careful ;  don't  lay  it  down  anywhere.  There 
might  come  a  dog  .  .  ." 


112  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

Egholm  fingered  it  over,  and  made  out  the  con- 
tours of  a  fowl.  His  heart  softened.  And  then,  as 
Anna  stood  feeUng  helplessly  behind  her  with  her 
lace  boots,  he  took  her  in  his  arms,  helped  her  out, 
and  twisted  her  round.  Her  face  was  flushed  with 
confusion.  The  features  he  cared  for  hid  those  he 
hated.  For  a  second  he  read  the  anxious  question- 
ing in  her  eyes,  then  a  wave  of  deep  sympathy  over- 
whelmed him,  and  he  pressed  her  to  him  again  and 
again. 

"  I'm  so  glad  you've  come,  Anna,  my  dear,  I'm 
so  glad." 

Omnibus-Jeppe  was  to  take  the  heavier  luggage 
that  was  in  the  van. 

"  H'm,"  said  Jeppc,  scratching  the  back  of  his 
head,  "  there's  enough  to  stock  a  shop." 

Egholm  scratched  his  head  likewise,  and  stared 
helplessly  at  the  bundles  of  bedding  and  Anna's 
flower-pots — a  whole  score  of  them. 

"  What  on  earth  d'you  want  to  drag  all  that 
about  for  ?  "  he  asked  irritably. 

"  Oh,  look  !  They've  broken  the  calla  there," 
wailed  Fru  Egholm,  kneeling  down  beside  it. 
"  Broken  right  down  at  the  root.  And  it  was  just 
coming  out.  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  that  !  " 

"  Give  me  a  twenty-five  ere,  and  I'll  look  after 
the  lot,"  said  Jeppc,  melting  at  once  before  feminine 
grief. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  113 

The  family  had  as  much  as  they  could  carry. 
Egholm  walked  with  pictures  under  either  arm  ;  his 
wife  took  the  fowl,  the  cut-glass  bowl,  and  the 
flower-pot  with  the  calla.  Leave  it — because  it  was 
broken  ?     No,  she  could  never  be  so  cruel. 

Emanuel's  perambulator  lay  upside  down,  reveal- 
ing the  advertisement  placard  for  somebody's  beer 
that  had  been  tacked  over  the  hole  in  the  bottom. 
Hedvig  tipped  it  right  side  up.  It  would  hold  a  good 
deal,  being  of  a  peculiarly  low,  broad  shape.  Emanuel 
was  ultimately  placed  among  the  various  goods  there 
disposed,  as  one  surrounded  by  trophies  in  a  triumphal 
car.  He  sat  looking  round  with  big  blue  eyes  under 
his  little  white  cap.  It  was  a  girl's  cap,  really — a  sort 
of  sunbonnet  that  had  lain  in  a  drawer  since  Hedvig's 
time,  but — Herregud  !  what  did  it  matter  ?  At  his 
age  .  .  . 

Egholm  walked  in  front,  the  pictures  waving  up 
and  down  like  a  pair  of  wings  as  he  described  the 
view  with  great  enthusiasm  to  his  wife. 

The  slow-moving  flood  of  the  Belt  glittered  in 
newborn  sunlight.  The  fields  lay  green  and  open 
under  God's  sky.  The  landscape  looked  one  freshly 
and  boldly  in  the  eyes — Anna  marked  how  the  very 
air  tasted  utterly  different  from  that  about  Eriksens' 
sour  little  patch  of  yard  and  garden.  Her  husband 
voiced  her  thought  exactly  when  he  said  : 

"  I  don't  believe  there's  a  prettier  spot  in  all  the 
world," 
8 


114  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

"  But  the  town  ?  "  she  asked  in  surprise.  "  Where 
is  it  ?  " 

"  Right  up  there  in  the  bay.  See  the  red  church- 
tower  there,  and  the  Custom  House — that  yellow 
place  standing  out  against  the  great  black  woods  ? 
The  town's  as  sheltered  as  a  bird  in  its  nest.  And 
look,  that's  Jutland  over  there — see  how  close  it 
looks,  and  the  two  lines  of  coast  all  soft  against  each 
other.     Looks  almost  as  if  they  were  dancing." 

"  And  look  at  the  white  sails  on  the  blue  water  !  " 

"  Yes.  I  know  that  one  with  the  topsail.  That's 
Etatsraad  Brodersen's.  You  know,  '  Brodersen's  Pure 
Grape.'     He's  the  great  man  of  the  town." 

"  It's  a  lovely  place." 

"  Ah,  but  wait  till  it's  summer,  and  the  beeches 
are  out,"  said  Egholm,  with  bright  eyes.  "  We'll  go 
out  one  day  together.     I'll  show  you  it  all." 

Tears  welled  up  into  Anna's  eyes.  What  a 
marvellous  place  was  this  Knarreby,  that  could  so 
change  her  husband  altogether !  Actually  running 
down  the  platform  to  meet  them  as  if  it  had  been 
visitors  of  rank.  And  no  grumbling  or  scolding 
because  the  train  was  late. 

Egholm  was  himself  moved.  He  blinked  his  eyes 
and  looked  away. 

Out  on  the  Belt,  Brodersen's  cutter  was  cruising 
about.  It  was  on  the  water  early  this  year.  There 
— it  was  tacking  now.  Stood  for  a  moment  straight 
as  a  white  church,  and  then  off  on  the  new  tack. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  115 

Heavens,  how  it  heeled  over  !  Why  doii'i  they  let 
go  the  sheet  ?  Ah,  there  she  was  up  again  !  But 
Egholm  had  somehow  slipped  out  of  his  former 
joyous  mood,  and  said  a  trifle  absently  and  wearily  : 

"  Yes,  it's  a  pretty  place  ;  that's  true." 

Fru  Egholm  did  not  notice  his  altered  tone.  She 
found  the  moment  opportune  to  put  in  a  word  for 
one  that  had  been  left  behind  in  Odense,  one  that 
had  stood  on  the  platform  in  the  early  morning, 
waving  and  waving,  till  he  suddenly  collapsed,  as 
if  the  ground  had  been  snatched  from  under  his 
feet.  Was  he  not  to  have  a  share  in  the  promised 
land  ? 

"  Sivert  sent  his  love.  He  couldn't  come,  of 
course,  poor  child." 

"  No,  thank  goodness  !  " 

The  mother  started — it  was  the  old  voice  again. 
Her  rejoicing  had  hurried  her  forward  along  a  path 
that  ended  in  a  morass — she  must  drag  her  steps  back 
now,  uncertain  of  her  way. 

Listlessly  she  followed  Egholm's  account  of  some 
excursion  of  his  own. 

"  We  came  round  the  point  to  an  island  that  was 
like  a  floating  forest — Heireoen,  it's  called.  We  put 
in  there,  alongside  a  pavilion  place,  and  had  steak 
and  onions." 

"  Wasn't  it  dreadfully  expensive — at  a  place  like 
that  ?  "  Anna's  voice  was  dull  and  joyless  as  her 
own  meals  and  the  children's  had  been  every  day, 


ii6  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

Sundays  and  weekdays  alike,  as  far  back  as  she  could 
remember. 

"  I  don't  know.  It  was  Henrik  Vang  that  paid. 
That  is  to  say — he  knew  the  man  who  kept  the  place, 
and  so  .  .  ." 

"  Henrik  Vang  ?  Oh,  that'll  be  the  one  you 
wrote  about.  His  father's  got  a  little  eating-house 
or  something." 

"  Little  eating-house  !  Good  Lord  ! — the  finest 
hotel  in  the  place.     First-class  restaurant  !  " 

Anna  had  no  grounds  for  disapproval,  but,  none 
the  less,  she  murmured  : 

"  H'm.     A  fellow  like  that  .  .  ." 

The  family  had  reached  the  outskirts  of  the  town. 
As  they  walked  on,  curtains  were  moved  aside,  and 
a  nose-tip  here  and  there  showed  through.  In  the 
little  shops,  the  shopkeepers  dropped  their  paper 
bags  and  crowded  with  their  customers  to  see. 

Hedvig  enjoyed  being  thus  a  centre  of  attraction. 
She  arranged  the  newspaper-holder,  the  plaster 
figure,  and  the  lamp  in  a  specially  attractive  fashion, 
drew  herself  up,  tossed  her  head,  and  only  wished 
they  might  have  to  walk  all  through  the  town.  As 
it  happened,  she  was  disappointed. 

Egholm,  whose  fingers  were  getting  sore  with 
holding  the  pictures,  tripped  on  faster. 

"  There — that's  where  I  live,"  he  said,  out  of 
breath.     "  Pick  up  your  legs  a  bit,  can't  you  ?  " 

"  Where  ?  " 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  117 

"  The  grey  house  there,  with  the  gateway." 

All  else  was  forgotten  now  in  the  anxiety  to  see 
the  place  that  was  to  be  their  home.  It  was  a  long, 
low  house.  A  gateway,  two  narrow  shop-windows, 
a  door,  and  four  pairs  of  windows  beside.  Over  the 
entrance  was  a  placard  inscribed  with  black  letters 
on  a  white  ground  :  "  H.  Andreasen.  Coffins  and 
Funeral  Furnishings.'''' 

A  very  respectable  house  it  was,  plastered  with 
cement.  And  now  they  could  see  the  show-case 
on  one  side  of  the  entrance,  with  the  photos  in.  No 
dream,  then,  no  misunderstanding.  It  was  here  they 
were  to  live. 

"  Lord,  isn't  it  fine  !  "  cried  Hedvig. 

Anna  sighed  resignedly,  even  perhaps  in  relief. 

Saw  and  plane  stopped  suddenly.  The  men 
wiped  the  cobwebs  from  the  panes  and  looked  out, 
their  bare  arms  gleaming  against  their  blue  overalls. 

Anna  hurried  in  through  the  entrance,  but 
stopped  inside,  and  looked  back  at  her  husband 
inquiringly. 

There  was  someone  in  there  !  She  could  feel  it, 
and  it  made  her  ill  at  ease.  She  was  ready  to  drop 
as  it  was,  from  weariness,  and  longed  to  hide  herself 
between  four  walls,  to  get  her  breath  in  peace,  and 
set  about  to  make  things  comfortable  for  her  husband, 
the  children,  and  herself. 

"  What  are  you  waiting  for  ?  Go  along  in — the 
door's  open." 


ii8  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

"  But  there's  someone  ...  I  thought  I  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  that'll  be  Vang,  I  suppose,"  said  Egholm, 
opening  the  door  himself.  "  Hullo,  Vang,  here  we 
are  again.  Nobody  been,  I  suppose  ?  No,  no. 
Well,  here's  my  little  party." 

Vang  was  seated  in  the  middle  of  the  bed,  with 
his  hat  on,  and  a  cold  cigar  at  one  corner  of  his 
mouth.  The  bed  had  sunk  under  the  weight  of 
his  heavy  frame  ;  the  dirty  sheets  and  spotted 
blankets  were  twirled  up  as  by  a  waterspout. 

"  My  husband  wrote  about  you,"  Fru  Egholm 
stammered  with  an  effort.  She  stood  holding  her 
flower-pot  and  her  parcels  as  if  dreading  to  soil  the 
paint  of  table  and  seats. 

"  Him  and  me,"  said  Vang  in  a  solemn  bass, 
letting  his  chin  fall  forward  on  his  chest — "  him  and 
me  we've  been  as  one.  But  I'm  going  now,  all 
right." 

"  Why,  what  for  ? "  said  Egholm,  touched. 
"  There's  no  need  .  .  ."     He  took  Vang's  arm. 

"  Ah,  but  I  must.  Henrik  Vang  can't  stay  where 
there's  women  about." 

"  What's  turned  you  so  serious  all  at  once  ?  " 

Vang  smoothed  the  bedclothes,  evidently  em- 
barrassed. 

"  It's  not  just  making  a  fuss,  to  be  asked  again. 
I  know  I'd  rather  stay.  Where  should  I  go  to, 
anyway  ?  " 

"  You've  a  charming  wife  at  home,"  said  Egholm 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  119 

mischievously.  "  But  stay  here  if  you  like.  I'll  be 
only  too  pleased." 

"  Home  ?  I'd  rather  walk  in  water  up  to  my 
neck  the  rest  of  the  day.  But  if  you  really  mean 
it — if  you'll  let  me  stay  where  I  am — still  as  a  mouse, 
and  never  disturb  a  soul,  why,  I'd  just  love  it." 

"  Do,  then,  Vang,  do." 

Vang  turned  with  a  smile  towards  Fru  Egholm, 
who  was  removing  her  hat  in  silence  at  the  farthest 
corner  of  the  room. 

"  I'll  stay,  then,  just  as  I  am,  in  what  I've  got 
on.  My  clothes  aren't  much,  anyway.  And  I'm 
mostly  drunk  as  well.  But  when  you  get  to  know 
me,  Frue^  you'll  see  that  right  down  inside  I'm  the 
man  I  am.  Son  of  Sofus  Vang.  First-class  hotel, 
excellent  cuisine,  and  choicest  wines — with  terrace 
overlooking  the  water  !  " 

Hedvig  burst  out  laughing.  She  and  her  mother 
began  carrying  in  the  things  Omnibus-Jeppe  had 
piled  up  outside. 

Egholm  saw  how  he  and  Vang  were  gradually 
being  immured  behind  the  various  belongings.  It 
even  seemed  to  him  that  now  and  then  something 
was  thrust  with  unnecessary  harshness  against  his 
legs,  and  a  threatening  look  crept  into  his  eyes.  In 
the  midst  of  a  flow  of  speech  addressed  to  Vang, 
he  broke  off  suddenly,  and  said  in  a  voice  of 
command  : 

"  Take  that  stuff  into  the  other  room  !  " 


120  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

"I  will,  dear.  Let  me,"  said  Fru  Egholm.  "But 
it  looked  like  rain,  you  know." 

"  Not  that  door,"  said  Egholm  angrily. 

"  But  these  are  the  kitchen  things."  Fru  Egholm 
had  already  seen  that  the  other  door  opened  into 
an  attic  or  box-room  or  something  of  the  sort.  "  Isn't 
that  the  kitchen  there  ?  " 

"  Kitchen  !  That's  my  dark-room."  Egholm 
spoke  as  might  a  God  to  whom  creations  are  the 
merest  trifle.  The  place  might  have  been  a  kitchen. 
Well  and  good — Egholm  spoke  the  words  :  "  Let 
there  be  a  dark-room." 

"  You'll  have  to  manage  in  there — at  any  rate, 
for  the  present."  He  nodded  towards  the  non- 
descript apartment  opposite.  "  Make  that  a 
kitchen." 

"  But,  my  dear  .  .  ."  Fru  Egholm  pulled  her- 
self together  with  a  poor  attempt  at  a  smile.  Then 
she  shook  her  head  ;  it  was  hopeless  to  try  to  explain 
to  the  uninitiate  what  a  little  world  in  itself  a  kitchen 
is.  "  The  stove  .  .  ."  she  managed  to  protest. 
"  There's  not  even  a  heating-stove  in  there." 

She  waited  still,  with  the  chest  of  utensils  in  her 
hands,  before  the  forbidden  door.  She  must  get  in 
there. 

Egholm  reflected  that  it  was  perfectly  true  about 
there  being  no  stove.  It  was  for  that  reason  he  had 
had  his  bed  in  here  for  the  winter.  He  could  find 
no  way  out  of  the  difficulty,  and  grew  furious — for 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  121 

even  he  was  not  so  far  almighty  as  to  create  a  kitchen 
where  no  kitchen  was. 

"  All  right,  get  along  with  you,  then  ?  "  he  said, 
pushing  her  in,  and  Hedvig,  with  Emanuel  in  her 
arms,  behind  her.  "  There  you  are  !  But  mind  ! 
No  fooling  about  with  any  of  my  things  !  " 

The  door  opened  with  a  queer  sucking  noise — it 
had  been  caulked  with  strips  of  cardboard  and  cloth. 

Hedvig  and  her  mother  stood  aghast,  while 
Egholm  thrust  past  them  and  began  moving  his 
bottles  with  the  easy  familiarity  of  habit. 

All  the  windows  were  darkened  but  one,  that 
glared  red  as  a  furnace  door.  They  could  see  nothing 
save  their  own  hands,  which  looked  strange  and  un- 
canny in  the  red  light. 

"  Egholm,  you  surely  don't  mean  to  say  we're 
to  do  the  cooking  here  ?  When  you  can't  see  your 
hand  before  your  face  !  " 

Egholm  stepped  across  and  shut  the  door  behind 
them  ;  then,  turning  to  his  wife,  he  brought  his  face 
close  down  to  hers,  and  whispered  in  a  voice  that 
seethed  like  a  leak  in  an  overheated  boiler  : 

"  Look  here  !  You're  not  going  to  come  along 
and  ruin  the  business  for  me  now,  so  don't  you  think 
it.  If  I  can  see  to  do  my  developing,  you  can  see 
to  cook.     You  understand  ?  " 

And  he  went  on  with  a  further  flow  of  words, 
furious,  though  subdued. 

Fru  Egholm  writhed. 


122  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

"  But,  Egholm  .  .  .  there's  no  room  !  I  can't 
even  see  the  stove.  .  .  .  Oh.  .  .  ." 

She  still  clung  to  a  faint  hope  that  he  might  be 
brought  to  see  things  with  her  eyes,  and  realise  how 
unreasonable  it  was  to  ask  her. 

"  Very  well.  I'll  give  you  a  lamp.  My  dark- 
room lamp  should  be  about  here  somewhere." 

His  fingers  moved  among  rattling  bottles  on  the 
stove. 

"  Here  it  is — no.     Now,  where  the  devil  .  .  ." 

A  bottle  upset ;  he  grasped  at  it  hurriedly  and 
knocked  over  another  ;  the  liquid  gurgled  out  into  a 
pool  on  the  floor. 

"  A  basin — quick,  give  me  a  basin !  My  silver 
nitrate  .  .  .  quick,  a  basin  !  " 

They  reached  about  for  one  in  haste  and 
confusion. 

"  Open  the  door  so  we  can  see  !  "  cried  Hedvig. 
But  at  the  same  moment  her  father  came  towards 
them.  His  face  looked  as  if  smeared  with  blood  in 
the  light  from  the  red-covered  pane ;  his  teeth 
showed  between  parted  lips. 

"  You — you're  the  serpent  in  the  garden  !  "  he 
hissed. 

"  Oh,  don't  !  "  she  cried,  her  voice  rising  to  a 
scream. 

Emanuel  was  beginning  to  cry.  Hedvig  tried  to 
wriggle  through  with  him  to  the  door,  but  stepped 
on  the  basin  her  father  had  just  set  on  the  floor. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  123 

This  was  too  much  for  Egholm.  He  felt  he  must 
either  discharge  the  current  within,  or  be  fused  by  it, 
like  an  overcharged  wire. 

He  staggered  one  step  back,  then  forward  again. 
His  arms  rose  up  as  if  with  an  inner  force  of  their 
own  ;  then  with  his  full  strength  he  struck  his  clenched 
fist  in  his  wife's  face. 

Once  again,  and  once  again  he  struck,  the  flesh  of 
her  checks  squelching  under  the  blows.  Then  he 
stumbled  out,  and  closed  the  door  carefully  behind 
him. 

Vang  was  seated  on  the  bed  exactly  as  before. 
What  could  he  say  to  him  ?  It  was  the  first  time 
any  stranger  had  witnessed  a  scene  of  this  sort.  What 
was  the  use  of  starting  upon  heart-rending  explana- 
tions, which  Vang  would  never  understand  ?  And 
how  much  of  the  trouble  had  been  audible  through 
the  close-padded  door  ? 

Vang  gets  to  his  feet  ;  he  must  go  now — yes,  he 
must.  There  is  something  cowed  about  him ;  he 
speaks  in  a  low  voice,  and  does  not  look  up.  And 
Egholm,  suddenly  aware  of  Anna's  sobbing  and 
Hedvig's  uncontrolled  blubbering  plainly  heard 
through  the  door,  realises  that  Vang  must  have  been 
able  to  follow  the  drama  through  all  its  painful 
details. 

And  now  he  is  going  off,  convinced  that  Egholm 
is  a  cruel,  cruel  brute. 

It    must    not    be  !      Egholm    feels    now,    more 


124  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

strongly  than  ever  before,  that  he  can  be  so  good,  so 
good  ! 

"  No,  no  ;  you  mustn't  go !  "  he  cries,  as  Vang 
steps  cautiously  over  the  bath  full  of  flower-pots. 
He  grips  him  by  the  arm,  anxious  to  prove  his  all- 
embracing  affection  on  the  spot.  "  You  mustn't  go 
now  I'm  in  all  this  mess.  Didn't  you  say  we'd  been 
as  one  together  ?  Wait  a  bit  ;  there's  something  I 
want  to  talk  to  you  about." 

Egholm  sat  down  on  a  ragged  mattress,  and 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

If  only  he  had  something — some  precious  gift — 
to  offer  Vang.  But  he  had  nothing — not  a  copper 
ore  in  his  pocket  ;  not  a  thing.  Not  so  much  as  a 
bite  of  bread  for  himself,  still  less  for  Vang.  And 
what  about  the  others  ?  .  .  . 

The  fowl  !  The  thought  of  it  seemed  to  flow  like 
something  rich  and  soft  and  fat  right  out  to  his 
fingers.  He  straightened  himself  up  and  looked 
round — yes,  there  it  was,  in  the  perambulator. 

"  I  was  going  to  ask  you  to  supper,  Vang.  My 
wife's  brought  a  fowl  along,  a  fine  fat  bird,  almost 
as  big  as  a  drake.  But  I  suppose  you've  something 
better  for  supper  yourself  ?  " 

He  gauged  Vang's  hunger  by  the  rumbling  of  his 
own  empty  paunch,  and  made  every  effort  to  persuade 
him. 

"  A  fine  bird,  a  delicious  bird  ;  the  size  of  a 
drake  as  nearly  as  can  be." 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  125 

Egholm  was  not  quite  sure  whether  a  duck  or  a 
drake  would  be  the  larger,  but  took  the  word  as  it 
came  into  his  head,  to  help  him  in  his  need. 

Vang  could  not  resist.  He  smacked  his  lips,  and 
said  : 

"  I  could  go  down  to  Father's  place,  of  course. 
They  can't  refuse  me  anything  there,  after  all, 
though  they  do  keep  me  waiting  and  make  things  as 
uncomfortable  as  they  can.  If  only  I  could  be  sure 
your  wife  wouldn't  mind.  .  .  ." 

"  Not  a  bit,  not  a  bit,"  said  Egholm  cheerfully, 
relieved  that  all  was  well  again.  He  had  been  cruel, 
by  an  unfortunate  chance,  but  now  he  had  wiped 
that  out.  Briskly  he  took  up  the  parcel  with  the 
delicious  bird,  and  even  played  ball  with  it  as  he 
went  towards  the  dark-room  door.  The  business  in 
there  before  sickened  him  unspeakably. 

There  was  a  moment  of  deadly  silence  as  he 
opened  the  door,  but  hardly  had  he  taken  a  step 
forward  when  he  ran  against  a  shadow  that  would 
not  let  him  pass.  Next  moment  he  felt  Hedvig's 
skinny  hands  like  claws,  one  at  his  chest,  the  other 
gripping  his  throat,  as  she  hissed  out  : 

"  You  dare  to  touch  Mother  again — you  dare  ! 
Quick,  Mother,  take  Emanuel  and  run  !  " 

Egholm  was  more  astonished  than  angry  at  first. 
What  was  all  this  ? 

But — ugh  !  it  hurt  !  He  tried  in  vain  to  wrest 
her  hands  away ;  then  he  struck  at  her  head.     But 


126  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

she  ducked  down  between  his  arms  and  butted  him 
over  against  the  stove. 

"  Run — run  quick  !     I've  got  him  !  " 

"  Let  go,  you  little  devil  ! — oh,  help !  she's 
strangling  me  ! " 

"  Hedvig,  what  are  you  doing  ? — Hedvig,  dearest 
child  !  Let  go,  do ;  it's  your  father  !  "  Fru  Egholm 
tried  to  pull  her  off. 

Then  Hedvig  realised  that  the  day  was  lost.  She 
loosened  her  hold,  and  let  Mother  and  Father  wrest 
an  arm  to  either  side,  till  she  stood  as  if  crucified  up 
against  the  wall,  her  head  drooping,  and  yellow  wisps 
of  hair  falling  over  her  flushed  face.  And  she  fell 
to  crying,  with  a  horrible  penetrating  wail. 

Egholm  had  still  by  no  means  recovered  from  his 
astonishment.  He  coughed,  and  began  rubbing  his 
neck,  speculating  the  while  on  some  appropriate 
punishment  for  the  presumptuous  girl. 

"  Well,  you're  a  nice  little  beast,  you  are,"  he 
said.  But  he  could  hardly  find  more  to  say.  There 
were  not  actually  words  in  the  language  for  criminals 
of  that  sex. 

"  You  overgrown  hobbledehoy,  falling  upon  your 
own  father,  your  own  flesh  and  blood.  I  never  heard 
of  such  a  thing.  If  you  had  your  deserts,  you'd  be 
bundled  off  to  gaol  this  minute,  you  disgraceful  young 
scoundrel." 

Suddenly  he  began  tearing  down  the  planks  and 
cardboard    from   the    window,    without    a    word    of 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  127 

explanation,  but  with  emphatic  jerks  and  crashes  that 
fell  in  time  to  his  words  and  gave  them  added  weight. 

"  You  wait — I  shan't — forget,  you — squat-nosed 
— little — guttersnipe." 

But  for  every  tug  at  the  flimsy  covering,  the  light 
poured  in  more  violently,  like  a  wonderful  grace  of 
God.  Both  Hedvig  and  her  mother,  despite  their 
indignation,  could  not  help  craning  their  necks  to 
look,  as  the  corner  of  a  garden,  with  budding  trees, 
came  moving,  as  it  were,  towards  them.  Even 
Emanuel  opened  his  eyes  wide,  and  lifted  his  little 
hands  towards  the  light. 

Once  he  had  begun,  there  seemed  no  end  to 
Egholm's  willingness  to  oblige.  He  cut  the  string 
by  which  the  door  was  fastened,  and  tore  away  the 
padding  from  all  sides. 

"  There  !  Now.,  are  you  satisfied  ?  "  he  asked, 
with  great  politeness. 

But  there  was  something  wanting  yet  to  render 
his  wife's  satisfaction  complete.  Those  bottles  .  .  . 
All  along  the  shelves  and  dresser  were  rows  of  bottles, 
in  every  shape,  thickness,  and  colour.  Many  of  them 
were  ticketed  with  complicated  chemical  names,  and 
some  bore  the  awe-inspiring  death's-head  poison 
label.  Egholm  had  strung  a  tangle  of  lines  from 
wall  to  wall,  on  which  his  photos  hung  to  dry,  exactly 
as  when  Hedvig  played  dolls'  washing-day. 

And  the  kitchen  table  was  a  veritable  map  of 
stains. 


128  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

"  They  cost  something,  those  did,"  said  Eghohn. 
"  That's  my  silver  nitrate."  And  he  seemed  as 
proud  as  if  he  had  paved  the  way  for  his  wife's  arrival 
with  pieces  of  eight. 

He  helped  to  set  the  numerous  bowls  and  glass 
plates  aside,  and  murmured  regretfully  : 

"  Well,  well,  anyhow,  you've  had  your  way." 

"  Yes,  but  .  .  ." 

"  I  hope  you  can  see  now,  at  any  rate.  And  now, 
for  Heaven's  sake,  make  haste  and  get  that  fowl  done. 
I've  asked  Vang  to  supper." 

"  But,  Egholm  !  You  don't  mean  to  say  .  .  ." 
Fru  Egholm  almost  screamed. 

"  Beginning  again,  are  you  ?  "  he  said  threaten- 
ingly. But  at  sight  of  her  face,  bruised  and  already 
colouring  from  his  recent  blows,  he  turned  away. 

"  We  must  do  something  for  him.  He's  been  a 
help  to  me  from  the  first  day  I  came.  And  he's  got 
a  miserable  home." 

"  We've  neither  knives  nor  forks — we  haven't 
even  plates."  Fru  Egholm  dared  not  say  too  much 
just  now,  but  hurried  to  unpack  a  box,  that  the  con- 
tents might  speak  for  her.  There  were  a  few  cups 
without  handles,  five  or  six  plates,  some  of  them 
soup-plates,  but  no  two  alike.  One  had  a  pattern  of 
flowers,  another  birds ;  a  third  was  ornamented  with 
a  landscape.  Two  of  the  knives  lacked  handles,  and 
nearly  all  the  forks  were  one  prong  short. 

"  There  !     I  don't  know  what  you  think  ?  " 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  129 

Egholm  was  on  the  point  of  breaking  out  again, 
but  suddenly  he  laughed. 

"  Oh,  an  elegant  dinner  service.  Splendid ! 
splendid  !  "     And  he  danced  about  the  floor. 

"  We  haven't  a  single  dish,  or  a  tureen.  And  his 
father  keeps  a  real  hotel — we  can't  serve  it  up  in  the 
saucepan." 

"  Oh  yes,  you  can.  Vang  and  I,  we're  not  the 
sort  to  stand  on  ceremony.  Wait  a  minute,  though 
— a  dish  ...  I  can  let  you  have  a  dish." 

He  picked  up  a  big  white  rinsing-dish  from  among 
his  own  equipment,  fished  up  some  plates  that  were 
lying  in  the  bottom,  and  tipped  the  liquid  into  a 
bottle. 

"  There  you  are — real  porcelain.  Now  the  set's 
complete.  But  mind  you  wash  it  out  well,  or  you'll 
send  us  all  to  kingdom  come.  And,  for  Heaven's 
sake,  make  haste.  I've  got  to  keep  talking  to  him  all 
the  time,  and  you've  no  idea  what  a  business  that  is." 

Whereupon  Egholm  danced  out  of  the  doorway, 
leaving  his  wife,  confused  and  helpless,  with  the 
dripping  poison  dish  in  her  hands. 


XI 


HEDVIG  sat  in  front  of  the  stove,  crumpling  up 
newspapers  and  thrusting  them  in  through 
the  open  door,  to  keep  the  fire  from  going 
out  entirely. 

"  This  will  never  do,"  said  her  mother,  wringing 
her  hands.  Egholm  was  tramping  up  and  down  in 
the  next  room,  stopping  every  now  and  then  to  open 
the  door  and  ask  if  the  supper  wasn't  nearly  ready. 
His  face  was  pale — he  was  always  most  dangerous 
when  he  was  hungry. 

"  Huh  !     Let  them  wait,"  said  Hedvig. 

"  Run  outside,  dear,  and  see  if  you  can't  find 
some  bits  of  something — a  piece  of  board  or  some 
twigs  or  anything  that'll  burn.  I  fancy  I  saw  some 
stuff  under  that  bush  in  the  corner." 

Hedvig  was  always  happiest  when  she  found  a 
chance  of  using  her  legs.  She  explored  the  yard 
across  and  across,  quartering  like  a  hound  in  all 
directions,  and  finding  not  a  little  in  the  way  of  fuel. 
When  she  had  filled  her  apron,  there  was  a  knocking 
at  one  of  the  windows.  At  first  she  tried  to  ignore 
it,  and  was  hurrying  in  with  her  findings,  but  the 
knocking  was  repeated,  and  more  loudly.    She  turned 

angrily  and  looked  in. 

130 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  131 

A  brown-eyed  young  workman  in  the  carpenter's 
shop  stood  beckoning  to  her,  both  hands  full  of 
beautiful  lumps  of  newly  cut  wood. 

This  was  a  language  Hedvig  understood  ;  she 
picked  up  her  heels  and  ran  to  the  workshop  door. 

"  You  the  photographer's  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a 
bashful  grin  and  a  slight  lisp  in  his  voice,  as  he  laid 
the  blocks  like  an  offering  in  her  apron. 

"  Yes,"  said  Hedvig.  "  We  haven't  had  time  to 
get  in  any  wood  as  yet.  Mother  and  I  only  came 
to-day.  We're  going  to  have  chicken  soup  for  dinner. 
There's  visitors." 

"  But  what  are  the  bones  for  ?  "  said  the  man, 
picking  about  among  the  contents  of  the  apron. 

Hedvig  flushed,  but,  ready  witted  as  ever,  answered, 
laughing  : 

"  Oh.  Perhaps  you  don't  do  that  here.  In 
Odense  we  always  use  bones  for  the  fire  when  we  can 
get  them.     They  burn  almost  better  than  wood." 

"  What's  your  name  ?  " 

"  Hedvig  Egholm.  And  what's  yours  ?  You're 
the  carpenter's  son,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  No,  I'm  only  working  here,  that's  all.  My 
room's  just  at  that  end — like  to  come  and  see  it  ?  " 

"  No,  thanks.     I  must  make  haste  in." 

"  Well,  then,  come  this  evening,  or  to-morrow. 
Will  you  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly,  routing  about  in  all 
the  corners  for  more  wood. 

But  Hedvig  only  laughed,  and  shook  her  heavy 


132  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

yellow  plaits.  She  came  back  to  her  mother  with 
a  load  that  reached  to  her  chin.  There  was  no  need 
to  use  the  bones,  after  all — they  burnt  well  enough, 
it  is  true,  but  stank  abominably  in  the  burning. 

Emanuel  was  given  a  row  of  the  neat  wooden 
blocks,  set  up  on  the  table  before  him. 

"  Look — there's  the  puff-puff,"  said  Hedvig. 

The  child  laughed  all  over  his  face,  but  a  moment 
later  he  was  nibbling  at  the  engine. 

In  the  next  room  Egholm  was  still  talking  about 
the  manifold  vicissitudes  of  his  life. 

He  had  started  as  a  grocer's  assistant  in  Helsingor, 
then  in  Aalborg ;  after  that  he  had  been  a  photo- 
grapher, in  the  time  of  the  war,  when  the  Austrians 
were  there.  He  had  made  a  fortune,  but  it  had 
vanished  in  an  attempt  to  double  it,  in  Gsteborg, 
Sweden,  where  there  was  no  photographer  at  that 
time  at  all.  Then  on  to  Copenhagen  with  but  a  few 
small  coins  remaining,  and,  despite  this  adverse 
beginning,  the  possession  of  the  biggest  photographic 
studio  in  the  town  a  few  months  later. 

This  was  Egholm's  chej-cfceuvre ;  he  had  told 
the  story  of  it  a  hundred  times.  And  by  frequent 
repetition,  it  had  gained  a  certain  style,  as  he  omitted 
more  and  more  of  the  commonplace.  He  told  of 
his  bold  advertisements — a  new  departure  altogether 
— his  growing  staff  of  assistants,  the  eagerness  of  the 
public  to  come  first,  and  the  tearful  envy  of  his 
competitors.     And  when,  in  the  flight  of  his  telling, 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  133 

he  reached  its  highest  point,  where  he  really  was 
the  greatest  photographer  in  the  place — he  stopped. 
He  felt  he  must  remain  there  on  those  heights,  above 
the  clouds  ;  he  wished  his  hearers  always  to  remember 
him  as  there  and  so.  The  miserable  descent  he 
passed  over,  and  began  as  a  matter  of  course  with 
his  appointment  on  the  railways,  as  station  assistant, 
at  a  wretched  rate  of  pay. 

Vang  did  not  seem  to  miss  the  intervening 
chapters  ;  he  sat  wallowing  in  the  delicious  smell  of 
cooking  that  came  through  from  the  kitchen. 

Egholm  told  of  his  railway  period,  how  he  had 
rushed  about  the  country,  now  at  some  desolate 
little  station  on  the  Jutland  moors,  now  in  big  places 
like  Odense  or  Frederikshavn.  He  sighed,  and  passed 
over  the  conflicts  with  authority,  and  his  dismissal. 
No,  he  would  not  think  of  those  things  now  ;  not 
a  thought.  He  turned  abruptly  to  the  annals  of  the 
Brethren  of  St.  John.  True,  there  was  much  that 
was  disappointing  about  his  relations  with  that  com- 
munity, but,  after  all,  there  had  been  something 
grand  in  its  way  about  the  final  meeting.  Had  he 
not  stood  there  alone,  and  told  them  the  truth,  in 
such  a  wise  that  even  the  fellow  from  Copenhagen 
had  polished  his  glasses  and  shaken  in  his  shoes, 
finding  nothing  to  say  in  return  ?  Had  he  not  gained 
the  victory  ?  They  had  thrown  him  out — but  was 
not  that  in  itself  sufficient  evidence  that  his  words 
were  true,  and  had  pierced  them  accordingly  ? 


134  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

"  Yes,  and  then  I  heard  a  shout  from  someone 
down  by  the  door ;  it  was  Meilby.  You  know,  the 
photographer  I  used  to  teach  English.  He  was 
rather  like  you,  by  the  way,  Vang — the  same  gentle 
sort  of  eyes.  .  .  ." 

Augh  !  Egholm  realised  suddenly  that  he  had 
said  that  once  before  to-day.  He  had  got  to  the 
end  of  his  repertoire.  A  sense  of  shame  came  over 
him,  he  cleared  his  throat,  and  cried  in  a  forced 
voice  : 

"  Hi,  Anna  !  Vang  says  he'll  have  his  money 
back  if  the  performance  doesn't  begin  very  soon." 

Vang  grunted  ;  that  was  the  sort  of  thing  he 
understood.     But  Fru  Egholm  shivered  in  fear. 

"  Yes,  yes,  in  a  minute — live  minutes  more  ! 
Hedvig,  for  Heaven's  sake,  look  and  see  if  it's  nearly 
done  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  it's  peeling  now,"  reported  Hedvig,  and 
her  mother  left  the  horseradish  to  go  and  taste 
the  soup.  Herregud  !  it  was  as  weak  as  ditchwater. 
She  closed  her  eyes,  and  tasted  once  again,  looking 
very  much  like  a  blinking  hen  herself.  "  Ditch- 
water,  simply  !  " 

"  Hedvig  !  "  She  routed  out  a  pocket-handker- 
chief, and  untied  a  twenty-five  ore  from  one  corner. 
"  Run  out  and  get  a  quarter  of  butter,  there's  a 
dear." 

"  Well,  and  what  then  ?  "  she  said  sullenly  to  her- 
self.    "  It's  got  to  be  used,  and  I'm  not  sorry  I  did 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  135 

it.     Egholm  always  likes  his  things  a  little  on  the 
rich  side,  and  now  after  he's  been  so  angry  .  .  ." 

It  was  hard  to  please  him  anyway  when  he  was 
in  that  mood.  Who  would  have  thought  he  could 
have  turned  so  furious  just  for  a  little  remark  like 
that  ?  .  .  .  What  was  it  now  she  had  happened  to 
say  ? 

Her  brain  was  puzzling  to  remember  it  as  she 
bustled  about  the  final  preparations.  She  talked  to 
herself  in  an  undertone,  weeping  silently  the  while. 

"  Anna,  what  do  you  think  you're  doing  out 
there  ?  "  cried  Egholm. 

Hedvig  answered  with  a  brief,  sharp  word,  which 
her  mother  tried  to  cover  with  a  "  Sh  !  " 

"  Yes,  dear — yes,"  she  called. 

At  the  last  moment  she  had  hit  upon  a  new  and 
ingenious  plan  for  saving  her  housewifely  credit. 
The  soup  could  be  served  up  in  the  plates  outside, 
and  brought  to  table  thus  ;  the  nasty  dish  thing 
could  be  used  for  the  fowl  itself.  Fortunately,  Vang 
might  not  know  it  was  a  developing  tank  at  all. 

Hedvig  carried  Vang's  plate  in,  walking  stiffly  as 
a  wooden  doll,  and  biting  her  lips  till  they  showed 
white.  But  Vang,  with  a  single  friendly  tug  at  her 
pigtails,  made  her  open  her  mouth  at  once. 

She  laughed,  showing  her  fresh  white  teeth.  That 
was  Hedvig's  way. 

Vang  gulped  down  the  hot  soup  with  a  gurgling 
noise    like     a     malstrom.      Egholm    looked    across 


136  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

nervously  and  enviously,  and  when  Hedvig  came 
round  behind  his  chair,  he  reached  out  backwards 
greedily,  but  was  sadly  disappointed.  No  second 
helping — only  the  big  geranium  that  Hedvig  had 
brought  in  to  set  in  the  middle  of  the  table.  This 
was  her  mother's  last  brilliant  eifort  ;  no  one  could 
see  now  that  the  plates  were  not  alike.  She  had  even 
fastened  paper  round  the  pot,  as  if  it  were  a  birthday 
tribute. 

They  ate  in  silence,  but  when  the  dish  was  empty, 
and  each  was  wrenching  at  his  skinny,  flcshless  wing, 
Vang  let  off  his  long-restrained  witticism  : 

"  Egholm,  what  do  you  say  ?  Can  a  chicken 
swim  ? " 

"  Swim  ?  A  chicken  ?  Why,  I  suppose  so — 
no,  that  is,  I  don't  think  so." 

"  Well,  shall  we  try  if  we  can  teach  it  ?  " 

"  I — I  don't  quite  follow.  .  .  .  And,  any- 
how there's  only  the  ghost  of  it  left  now,  ha 
ha!" 

"  Well,  there's  time  yet,  for  it's  fluttering  about 
just  now  in  this  little  round  pond  just  here  !  "  Vang 
rose  heavily,  as  if  from  repletion,  snorting  with 
delight  at  the  success  of  his  little  joke,  and  drew  a 
circle  with  one  finger  over  the  front  of  his  well- 
expanded  waistcoat.  "  All  we  want's  a  drop  of 
something  for  it  to  practise  in  !  " 

Hedvig  was  dispatched  to  buy  akvavit  with  the 
few  coins  Vang  found  in  his  pockets  ;    he  gave  her 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  137 

the  most  precise  instructions  as  to  which  particular 
brand  it  was  to  be. 

Egholm  never  drank  with  his  meals  as  a  rule,  but 
that  evening  he  took  three  glasses  of  the  spirit,  though 
it  burned  his  throat  like  fire.  Vang  made  no  attempt 
to  force  him,  but  simply  said  "  Skaal  /  "  and  tossed 
off  his  glass. 

Egholm,  however,  had  other  reasons. 

Fie  had  fancied  he  could  eat  himself  into  oblivion, 
and  was  trying  now — with  just  as  little  effect — to 
drink  his  trouble  away.  But  it  only  grew  the 
worse. 

It  was  Anna's  eyes  that  would  keep  rising  up 
before  him. 

Anna's  grey-green  eyes,  with  their  frightened 
look,  in  a  setting  of  swollen,  blue,  and  bloodshot 
flesh,  that  hung  in  pouches  down  on  either  side  of 
her  nose. 

It  was  not  that  he  felt  remorse  for  what  he  had 
done  ;  that  did  not  cost  him  a  thought.  But  the 
effects  of  it — those  eyes — haunted  him  now,  follow- 
ing him  everywhere  he  turned,  relentlessly,  cruelly. 
He  writhed,  and  sighed,  overflowing  with  self-pity 
for  his  troubles. 

Eating  did  not  help  him,  drinking  was  equally 
futile  ;  there  was  but  one  thing  to  do,  then — to  start 
talking  again,  before  it  grew  worse.  It  was  nothing 
to  what  it  might  be  yet.  And  Egholm  launched 
out  into  a  sea  of  talk,  diving  into  it,  swimming  out 


138  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

into  it,  hoping  to  leave  the  thing  that  followed  him 
outdistanced  on  the  shore. 

"  And  the  money  I  made  in  Aalborg  when  the 
Austrians  were  there — you've  no  idea.  My  studio 
was  simply  besieged  by  all  those  black-bearded  soldiers 
with  their  strings  and  stripes — and  they'd  no  lack  of 
cash,  I  can  tell  you.  But  then  while  they  were 
sitting  about  waiting,  there  would  come  some  slip 
of  a  lieutenant  and  turn  the  whole  lot  of  them  out 
to  make  way  for  him.  And  one  dirty  thief  I  re- 
member that  wouldn't  pay — between  you  and  me, 
the  photos  were  not  much  good,  and  that's  the  truth. 
Showed  him  with  three  or  four  heads,  you  under- 
stand. But  the  General  simply  told  him  to  pay  up 
sharp,  if  he  didn't  want  his  brains  blown  out.  And 
that  settled  it.  The  General,  of  course,  was  a  par- 
ticular friend  of  mine.  I'll  tell  you  while  I  think 
of  it.  It  was  this  way.  He  wanted  his  photo  taken, 
of  course,  like  all  the  rest  of  them,  but  he  must  have 
it  done  up  at  the  castle  itself,  in  the  great  hall,  and 
that  was  as  dark  as  a  cellar.  I  managed  to  get  him 
out  on  the  steps  at  last,  though  he  cursed  and  swore 
all  the  time,  and  hacked  about  on  the  stone  paving 
with  his  spurs.  All  the  others  got  out  of  the  way — 
sloped  off  like  shadows — and  there  was  I  all  alone 
with  him,  in  a  ghastly  fright,  and  making  a  fearful 
mess  of  things  with  the  camera.  The  interpreter 
had  vanished,  too.  Then,  just  as  I  was  ready,  at  the 
critical    moment,  you  understand,  I  rapped  out  in 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  139 

German,  '  Now  !  Look  pleasant,  please  !  '  All 
photographers  used  to  do  that,  you  know,  in  those 
days.     I  said  it  without  thinking. 

"  You  should  have  seen  him.  First  he  swore 
like  the  very  devil ;  you  could  almost  see  the  blue 
flames  dancing  round  him.  But  then  he  burst  out 
laughing. 

"  He  wanted  me  to  go  back  to  Austria  with  him. 
Tried  all  he  knew  to  get  me  to  go." 

Egholm  sighed,  and  gazed  vacantly  before  him, 
trying  if  the  vision  that  haunted  him  were  gone. 

.  .  .  Eyes,  eyes.  Eyes  full  of  terror,  set  in 
patches  of  bruised  flesh,  and  a  drop  of  congealed 
blood  just  at  the  side  of  the  nose.  .  .  . 

He  sprang  violently  to  his  feet,  and  started  talking 
about  Goteborg.  The  canals,  where  the  women  did 
their  washing,  the  park,  Tradgarden,  and  Mast- 
hugget,  where  he  had  been  out  one  Sunday.  He 
talked  Swedish,  and  gave  a  long  account  of  a  funeral 
— Anna  had  lost  one  child  in  Goteborg — the  first. 

Meanwhile,  Vang  was  quietly  getting  to  the 
bottom  of  the  bottle,  and  when  at  last  Egholm,  weary 
of  his  desperate  fluttering  on  empty  words,  flung 
himself  down,  Vang  felt  that  it  was  his  turn  to  speak. 

"  Ahem  ! — seeing  no  other  gentleman  has  risen 
Henrik  Vang  now  begs  to  propose  :  '  The  Ladies.' 
My  friend,  my  old  and  faithful  friend,  wake  up  and 
listen  to  my  words.  You  have  honoured  me.  You 
have  invited  me  to  share  your  board.     The  supper 


140  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

was  good — rather  tough,  that  fowl,  but,  after  all, 
that's  neither  here  nor  there.  In  a  word,  you  have 
done  me  a  great  honour,  and  I  propose  then  to 
honour  you  in  return.  My  friend,  my  old  and  faith- 
ful friend,  you  are  a  man.  You  can  assert  yourself, 
and  get  your  own  way.  But  Henrik  Vang,  he  can't. 
And  I  ask  you  now  :  How  shall  we  gain  the  mastery 
over  woman  ?  There  !  That,  my  friend,  is  the 
problem — the  problem  of  the  future." 

"  But  is  it  true  that  she  knocks  you  about  ?  " 
asked  Egholm,  grasping  eagerly  at  anything  to  turn 
the  current  of  his  own  thoughts. 

"  Sh  !  Wait.  Let  me.  I'll  tell  you  the  whole 
story,  from  the  time  when  she  was  parlourmaid  at 
the  house.  I  was  only  a  boy,  really — it  was  just 
after  Mother  had  died.  No — I  won't  begin  there, 
though.  Nothing  happened,  really,  till  four  or  five 
years  after,  when  I  came  home  after  I'd  been  out  in 
the  world  a  bit.  Therese  had  got  to  be  housekeeper, 
then.  And  Father,  he  said  I  was  to  leave  her  alone. 
Well,  that  of  course  put  me  on  to  her  at  once.  There 
were  enough  of  them  about  I  could  have  got  if  I'd 
cared — what  do  you  think  ?  Ah,  you  don't  know 
the  sort  of  man  Henrik  Vang  was  to  look  at  in  those 
days !  But  she  was  nearest  to  hand,  of  course.  Ever 
so  near.  .  .  .  Oh  !  And  handsome,  that  she  was. 
In  two  layers,  as  you  might  say,  one  outside  the  other. 
Father,  he  was  after  us  whenever  he  got  a  chance. 
He  offered  me  his  gold  watch  to  leave  her  alone,  but 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  141 

I  wasn't  such  a  fool.  I'd  have  that  anyway  when  he 
was  gone,  and  I  told  him  so.  But  then  one  day 
comes  Therese  and  shows  me  where  he'd  been 
pinching  her — arms  black  and  blue.  Well,  I  wasn't 
going  to  stand  that,  you  know,  so  we  got  a  special 
licence,  and  went  off  and  got  married  in  Fredericia. 
Father,  he  didn't  know  about  it,  of  course,  and  when 
he  sees  us  coming  up  the  steps  arm  in  arm,  he  says  : 
'  Henrik,  do  you  know  I've  kept  that  girl  ever  since 
your  mother  died  ?  '  '  That's  as  may  be,'  says  I. 
'  Anyhow,  she's  mine  now.'  And  then  I  up  and 
showed  him  our  wedding  ring — cost  me  ten  krofier, 
it  did.  Then  says  he  :  '  Out  you  get — out  of  my 
house.  A  thousand  kroner  a  year,  that's  all  you'll 
get.  The  hotel  here  I'll  keep,  as  long  as  I've 
strength  to  lift  a  glass  !  '  " 

The  tears  flowed  down  over  Vang's  puffy  purple 
cheeks.  Egholm  sniffed  once  or  twice  in  sympathy, 
and  forgot  his  own  troubles  for  a  moment. 

Vang  licked  a  last  drop  from  the  neck  of  the 
bottle,  and  went  on  : 

"  Well,  you  see,  Therese  had  never  expected 
that — nor  had  I.  But  don't  let's  talk  about  me. 
What  was  I  to  expect  ?  Drunken  fool,  that's  all. 
Perhaps  it  was  that  made  her  turn  religious.  I  don't 
know.  I  never  can  think  things  out.  It  tires  me. 
Well,  she  said  to  me  :  '  Look  here,  you  get  me  a 
place  at  the  Postmaster's  or  the  Stationmaster's,  or 
one  of  those  you're  always  drinking  with.'     Well,  they 


142  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

simply  laughed  at  me.  But  the  religious  lot,  they 
didn't  mind.  Only  the  worst  of  it  was,  from  the 
time  she  set  her  thoughts  on  heaven,  it's  been  simply 
hell  for  me  !     Now,  how  d'you  explain  that  ?  " 

Egholm  saw  him  off,  going  out  to  the  gate  with 
him,  and  at  the  same  moment  Hedvig  opened  the 
kitchen  door.  Yes,  the  dish  was  empty.  A  good 
thing  they  had  helped  themselves  before  it  went 
in. 

They  lit  the  lamp,  and  began  making  things 
ready  for  the  night.  There  was  a  jumble  of  things 
in  every  corner.  Empty  bottles  by  the  dozen,  and 
in  one  place  she  found  a  parcel,  carefully  wrapped  in 
newspaper,  containing  the  skins  and  skeleton  remains 
of  smoked  herrings.  Father,  no  doubt,  thought  that 
was  the  easiest  way  of  clearing  up  after  him. 

"  We'll  sleep  in  the  little  room,  of  course,"  said 
Hedvig  firmly  to  her  mother. 

"Ye — es,"  said  her  mother  quietly.  But  as 
Hedvig  began  dragging  the  bedding  across,  she  put 
on  her  sternest  face,  and  said  : 

"  Never  you  mind  where  your  mother's  to  sleep 
or  not  to  sleep.  You  know  your  Bible,  don't  you, 
enough  to  remember  about  man  and  wife  being 
one  ?  " 

"  Ho  !  " 

"  But  I'll  be  there  under  the  window.  Yes,  that's 
best." 

"  I  know  what  I'd  have  done  if  I'd  been  you," 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  143 

said  Hedvig  firmly.  "  I  wouldn't  have  washed  that 
dish." 

"  The  one  with  the  poison  !  Heavens,  child — why, 
they  might  have  been  ever  so  ill  !  " 

"  They  might  have  died  J  ^''  Hedvig's  eyes  were 
almost  white  to  look  at  as  she  spoke. 

At  the  same  moment  Egholm  came  in  again, 
and  now  nothing  was  heard  but  the  rattle  of  the 
iron  bedsteads  and  flapping  of  sheets  and  bedclothes 
patted  down.  They  shared  for  better  or  worse. 
Hedvig  was  given  one  iron  bedstead  in  the  little 
room  to  herself,  but  had  to  be  content  with  a  woollen 
blanket  and  her  father's  old  railway  cloak  for  covering. 
Fru  Egholm  had  to  spread  her  mattress  on  the  floor 
till  they  could  get  the  settee  screwed  together ;  then 
she  had  a  real  down  coverlet  over. 

Egholm  began  undressing  without  a  word.  His 
wife  turned  down  the  lamp — there  were  no  curtains 
to  the  windows.  They  heard  him  drop  his  waist- 
coat over  by  the  coal-scuttle,  and  his  trousers  by  the 
door  ;  then  he  threw  himself  on  his  bed,  breathing 
heavily. 

Fru  Egholm  stole  into  the  little  room,  where 
Emanuel's  cradle  was  set  against  Hedvig's  bed,  lest 
the  master  of  the  house  should  be  disturbed. 

Sleeping  soundly,  the  little  angel. 

"  Hedvig  dear,  you've  kept  your  stockings  on, 
haven't  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  warm  enough — just  feel  here,"     She 


144  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

found  her  mother's  hand  and  drew  it  down  over 
some  thick  woollen  stuff,  that  felt  strange  to  the 
fingers. 

"  What— what  is  it  ?  " 

"  Look  and  see  !  " 

Fru  Egholm  closed  the  door  and  struck  a  match. 
There  lay  Hedvig,  covered  over  with  a  curious  black 
rug  with  a  silver  fringe  round  the  edges  and  a  cross 
in  the  centre. 

For  a  moment  she  was  dazed,  then,  calling  up 
some  distant  memory,  she  exclaimed  in  horror  : 

''  Heavens,  child  !  Why,  it's  the  pall  they  use 
for  the  hearse  !     Wherever  did  you  get  it  ?  " 

"  It  was  hanging  on  the  stairs  outside,"  said 
Hedvig,  with  a  grin. 

"  But  you  mustn't.  However  could  you,  Hed- 
vig !  That  you  could  ever  dare.  .  .  .  Come  !  We 
must  put  it  back  at  once." 

Hedvig  made  as  if  to  obey,  and  drew  the  thing 
down,  but  the  momeni  her  legs  were  free,  she  turned 
a  back-somersault  and  commenced  a  wild  topsy- 
turvy dance  in  the  air,  waving  her  feet  about  like 
a  catherine-whecl.  Then  suddenly  she  disappeared 
again  under  the  pall,  showing  not  so  much  as  the  tip 
of  her  nose. 

The  match  went  out.  Fru  Egholm  shook  her 
head  anxiously,  with  a  faint  smile,  and  stole  out  of 
the  room.     Hedvig — what  a  child  ! 

All  was  quiet  in  the  parlour  now.     Egholm  was 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  145 

apparently  asleep.     Pray  God  he  might  wake  in  a 
better  mood  ! 

Anyhow,  they  had  got  that  fellow  Vang  out  of 
the  house  at  last — and  if  she  could  manage  it,  he 
should  not  be  in  a  hurry  to  come  again.  He'd  a  bad 
influence.  The  way  he  spoke  about  his  wife — 
Egholm  would  never  have  talked  like  that  himself  ! 
A  nice  sort  of  fellow,  indeed — and  his  father  owned 
a  hotel  ! 

Her  breast  heaved  as  she  undressed  and  laid  her 
things  neatly  on  a  chair,  as  her  father  had  taught 
her  when  a  child.  She  listened  breathlessly — was 
Egholm  asleep  ? 

Should  she  ?  .  .  .  He  didn't  deserve  it — but 
why  think  of  that  now  ? 

Softly  she  dragged  the  mattress  from  under  the 
window,  a  little  way  over  the  floor,  stopped,  listened, 
and  dragged  it  a  little  farther.  Then  she  started  at  a 
sound,  and  felt  ashamed,  as  if  she  had  been  a  thief 
trying  to  steal  her  own  bed. 

Little  by  little  she  edged  her  way  along,  and 
finally  crept  under  the  clothes  with  a  sigh  of 
resignation. 

When  he  awoke,  he  should  find  her  humble 
couch  on  the  floor  beside  his  bed. 


10 


XII 

BUT  Egholm  was  not  asleep  ;    only  lying  quite 
still,  with  wide-open  eyes. 

His  trouble  was  that  going  to  bed  only 
made  him  wakeful,  however  sleepy  he  might  have 
been  while  undressing.  It  generally  took  him  a 
couple  of  hours  to  get  to  sleep,  and  during  that  time 
his  eyes  seemed  to  acquire  a  power  of  inward  vision. 
The  experiences  of  the  day  lifted  their  cofhn  lid  and 
swarmed  out  from  his  brain-cells  as  terrifying  appari- 
tions in  the  dark. 

True,  it  might  happen  at  times,  as  now  to-day, 
that  they  also  appeared  in  the  daytime,  but  then  he 
could  ward  them  off  as  long  as  he  kept  on  talking  and 
talking  incessantly. 

But  at  night  !  Tlicy  laughed  at  him  in  horrid 
wise,  lifted  the  wrappings  from  their  skulls,  and 
blinked  at  him  with  empty  eye-sockets.  He  was 
theirs. 

Nevertheless,  he  had  developed  a  certain  method 

in  his  madness  ;   they  could  not  take  him  by  surprise 

now,  as  they  had  done  at  first. 

To-day,  he  had  struck  Anna  three  times  in  the  face 

146 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  147 

— no  light  blows  either,  for  he  could  feel  his  knuckles 
slightly  tender  still— well  and  good,  then  to-night 
the  result  would  be  that  he  found  Anna  exchanged 
for  Clara  Steen,  the  child  with  the  deep  eyes,  the 
splendid  Clara  of  youth,  the  beloved  little  maiden 
in  the  gold  frame. 

In  a  gold  frame — yes,  an  oval  gold  frame. 

Here  again  was  one  of  those  ridiculous  things  that 
could,  given  the  opportunity  and  a  suitable  mood, 
make  a  man  laugh  himself  crooked. 

Egholm  turned  over  on  the  other  side,  and  set 
himself  to  think  through  the  whole  affair  from  the 
beginning,  how  it  had  started  when  he  had  first 
gone  as  a  boy  to  work  in  Konsul  Steen's  business  in 
Helsingor. 

The  memory  here  was  sweet  as  a  breath  from 
gardens  of  lilac,  and  was  intended  solely  to  form  a 
nice,  crude  background  of  contrast  to  that  which 
was  to  come.  Yes,  Egholm  knew  the  system  of  these 
things. 

He  saw  himself  as  a  slender,  brown-eyed,  curly- 
haired  lad  running  about  upstairs  and  down  in  the 
big  store,  hauling  at  casks  and  pulling  out  drawers, 
followed  everywhere  by  the  sharp  eyes  of  Jespersen, 
the  assistant. 

Now  down  into  the  cellar  for  rum,  now  to  the 
warehouse  for  dried  fish,  then  up  to  the  huge  loft 
for  tobacco.  Up  there  was  the  place  he  liked  best  ; 
not  only  were  the  finest  goods  kept  there,  breathing 


148  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

essences  of  the  whole  world  towards  him  from  cases 
of  spice,  but  he  loved  the  view  from  the  slip-door, 
out  over  the  Sound  and  the  fortress  of  Kronborg,  and 
the  red  roofs  of  the  town. 

From  north  and  south  came  ships  with  proudly- 
upright  masts  and  rigging,  heaving  to  while  the 
Customs  officers  went  on  board.  And  each  of  them 
utilised  the  opportunity  to  lay  in  provisions.  Kasper 
Egholm  was  rowed  out  to  them  with  heavy  boat- 
loads of  wares,  and  was  soon  at  home  on  vessels  of 
all  nations — Dutch,  English,  French,  and  Russian. 
He  even  began  to  feel  himself  familiar  with  the 
languages. 

It  was  from  here  he  had  first  caught  sight  of 
Clara,  Konsul  Steen's  daughter. 

Possibly  it  was  as  much  for  her  sake  as  for  any- 
thing else  that  he  loved  to  throw  open  the  slip-door, 
or  climb  up  to  a  window  in  the  roof. 

One  little  episode  he  remembered  as  distinctly  as 
if  it  had  happened  yesterday. 

He  had  been  set  to  counting  Swedish  nails,  a 
hundred  to  each  packet,  but,  seeing  his  chance,  used 
the  scales  instead.  It  was  ever  so  much  easier  to 
weigh  them  out,  than  with  all  that  everlasting 
counting  ;  also,  he  could  finish  in  no  time,  and  be 
free  to  loiter  by  the  window  and  dream. 

The  wind  blows  freshly  about  his  ears,  he  looks 
over  toward  the  grey-green  slopes  of  the  Swedish 
coast,  and  feels  himself  as  free  as  if  his  glance  could 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  149 

carry  him  over  the  Sound,  high  over  the  roofs,  and 
green  trees,  and  the  top-masts  of  the  ships. 

Suddenly  he  cranes  his  neck  forward,  and  a  flood 
of  warmth  surges  from  his  heart  to  his  cheeks,  swell- 
ing the  veins  of  his  neck ;  there,  on  the  gravel  path 
just  below,  in  his  master's  garden,  walks  Clara. 

White  stockings  and  little  low  shoes  ;  her  foot- 
steps shoot  forward  like  the  narrow-leaved  bine  of 
some  swiftly  growing  plant,  and  she  hums  in  time 
to  her  walk.  Kasper  is  so  fascinated  that  involun- 
tarily he  hums  as  well,  but  wakes  with  a  start  of 
fright  at  hearing  his  own  rough  voice.  He  fancies 
he  can  see  the  delicate  skin  of  her  neck  gleaming 
through  the  lace  edge  of  her  dress,  the  blue  pulse 
in  her  temples,  and  the  play  of  the  sunlight  in  her 
dark-brown  hair. 

She  walks  round  the  lawn,  and  turns  into  a  patch 
that  would  take  her  along  under  the  wall,  where 
Kasper  cannot  follow.  He  realises  this,  and  works 
his  way  right  out  on  to  the  roof,  with  only  his  legs 
dangling  down  inside. 

"  Clara,  dear  little  Jomfru  Clara,"  whispers  his 
mouth,  "  do  not  go  away  !  " 

At  the  same  moment  his  legs  are  gripped  by 
powerful  claws,  and  he  is  hauled  down  with  such 
force  and  suddenness  that  he  has  not  time  even  to 
put  out  his  hands.  Down  he  comes  anyhow  on  the 
floor,  and  lies  there,  bruised  and  shaken,  looking  up 
into  Jespersen's  green  eyes. 


I50  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

"  Ho  !  So  you  loaf  about  looking  out  of  the 
window  when  you  ought  to  be  counting  nails !  " 

And  now  it  was  discovered  that  he  had  used  the 
scales.  Jespersen  found  one  packet  with  ninety- 
eight  nails  and  another  with  a  hundred  and  one 
instead  of  a  hundred,  and  ran  off  to  tell  his  master. 
Next  day  Kasper  was  sent  for  from  the  inner  office. 

The  thought  of  this  is  a  culmination  of  delight 
for  Egholm  in  his  sleepless  state,  but  at  the  same 
time,  he  notes,  in  parenthesis,  as  it  were,  that  he 
is  now  on  the  brink  of  the  abyss  he  knows  will  shortly 
swallow  him  up. 

The  stately  man  with  the  dark,  full  beard  talks 
to  him  of  doing  one's  duty  to  the  utmost,  not 
merely  as  far  as  may  be  seen.  And  during  the 
speech  Kasper  discovers  on  the  leather-covered  wall 
a  picture  in  a  gilded  oval  frame — a  painting  of  Clara. 

To  him  it  seems  even  more  lovely,  even  more 
living,  than  the  girl  herself  ;  his  eyes  are  simply  held 
spellbound  to  the  beautiful  vision. 

Konsul  Steen  glances  absently  in  the  same  direc- 
tion, and  then,  with  a  very  eloquent  gesture,  places 
himself  between  Kasper  and  his  daughter. 

"  Have  you  already  forgotten  your  duties  in  life, 
which  your  parents,  honest  people,  I  have  no  doubt, 
taught  you  ?     What  did  you  say  your  father  was  ?  " 

"  I'm  a  foundling,"  says  the  boy,  with  dignity, 
enjoying  his  master's  embarrassment. 

Afterwards,  standing  out  in  the  passage,  he  re- 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  151 

members  only  that  one  question  and  answer.  But, 
most  of  all,  Clara's  portrait  is  burned  deep  into  his 
brain.  Many  a  time  he  steals  a  peep  at  it  through 
the  keyhole.  Even  in  the  golden  days  when  Clara's 
living  self  would  place  her  hand  in  his  and  follow 
him  adventuring  through  the  gloomy  cellars,  or  over 
mountains  of  sacks  to  the  topmost  opening  of  the 
loft,  telling  him  her  troubles  and  her  joys,  and 
listening  to  all  his  confessions,  with  her  firm,  com- 
manding, and  yet  so  innocent  eyes  fixed  on  his — even 
then  the  painting  did  not  lose  its  halo.  And  through- 
out the  many  years  of  struggle,  it  lived  on  in  his  joy 
and  his  anguish,  mostly  in  anguish,  it  is  true,  for 
there  was  certainly  nothing  merely  amusing  when 
it  rose  up  like  life  before  his  mental  vision,  in  all  its 
smiling,  merciless  beauty,  rendering  his  agony  ten- 
fold worse.  Egholm  had  spoken  to  several  people 
about  that  same  thing,  among  them  the  doctor  at 
the  hospital  where  he  had  once  been  a  patient  for 
some  time.  The  doctor  knew  that  sort  of  thing 
very  well ;  it  was  what  was  called  an  obsession.  Well 
and  good — but  was  that  any  explanation,  after  all  ? 
No ;  it  was  rather  something  mysterious,  something 
of  the  nature  of  magic,  that  had  come  into  his  life 
from  the  time  he  married  Anna. 

Anna — yes.  .  .  . 

He  writhed  and  twisted  in  his  bed,  as  if  he 
were  on  a  spit.  His  heart  pumped  audibly  and 
irregularly. 


152  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

To  begin  with,  she  had  opened  the  door,  letting 
out  all  the  warmth,  and  made  him  nervous  with  all 
the  things  she  strewed  about  the  floor. 

Then  there  had  been  that  trouble  about  the 
dark-room,  which  had  driven  him  out  of  his  senses 
with  its  insistence. 

Why  couldn't  she  understand  that  it  was  not 
her  his  blows  were  aimed  at,  but  at  Fate  ? 

What  was  a  photographer  without  a  dark-room  ? 

No — she  could  not  understand.  Not  an  atom. 
She  could  only  stand  there  and  say  "  But, 
Egholm  .  .  ."  and  plague  him  about  her  kitchen. 

Egholm  half  raised  himself  in  bed,  utterly  in  the 
power  of  his  nightmare  thoughts,  and  struck  wildly 
at  the  air  with  his  clenched  fist. 

The  vision — yes,  there  it  was  ! 

"  Herregud ! — can't  a  man  be  left  to  sleep  in 
peace  ?  "  he  murmured  offendedly,  yet  with  a  sort  of 
humility  at  the  same  time.     "  I'm  so  tired.  .  .  ." 

But  as  in  the  gleam  of  lightning  he  saw  again 
and  again  Jomfru  Clara,  and  at  last  she  stood  there 
clearly,  steadfastly,  with  her  great  deep  and  mis- 
chievous eyes  radiantly  upon  him. 

He  groaned  and  shuddered,  flinging  himself 
desperately  about  as  he  lay,  for  he  knew  what  was 
coming  now. 

Hastily,  mechanically,  he  ran  through  the  scene 
once  more.  There  stood  Anna,  and  there  he  him- 
self. .  .  . 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  153 

"  But,  Egholm  .  .  ." 

"  You  are  the  serpent  .  .  ." 

His  fist  shot  out  into  the  dark,  and  struck,  this 
time,  not  Anna,  but  the  pale,  bright  girl  who  seemed 
to  glide  into  her  place. 

"  Oh — oh  !  "  He  writhed  and  groaned  again, 
drawing  in  his  breath  between  closed  lips,  as  one  who 
has  suddenly  cut  a  deep  wound  in  his  hand. 

"  Aren't  you  well,  dear  ?  "  It  was  Anna's  voice, 
close  at  hand. 

He  lay  stiff  and  still,  hardly  breathing  now.  The 
interruption  had  driven  the  horrors  away. 

Ridiculous — but  so  it  was  with  him.  He  remem- 
bered, for  instance,  having  been  haunted  by  a  snake 
— one  he  had  seen  preserved  in  spirits  at  some  rail- 
way station  office  or  other  .  .  .  yes.  That  had 
stopped,  after  a  while,  of  itself.  But  it  was  worse 
with  Clara's  picture.  In  a  way,  it  was  more  beautiful, 
of  course — oh,  so  beautiful.  .  .  . 

He  yawned  audibly. 

But  he  thought  many  other  things  out  yet  :  of  his 
business  and  his  money  affairs ;  of  Vang  and  Vang's 
domestic  life  ;  of  an  invention  he  wanted  to  get  on 
with — a  thing  of  almost  world-revolutionary  im- 
portance, a  steam  turbine,  that  could  go  forward  or 
back  like  lightning.  It  would  make  him  a  rich  man 
— a  wealthy  man.  .  .  . 

A  little  later  he  dropped  off  to  sleep,  lying  on 
his  back,  and  breathing  still  in  little  unsteady  gasps. 


I  54  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

Fru  Egholm's  straw  mattress  creaked  as  she  rose 
quietly,  and  with  a  gentle  touch  here  and  there 
tucked  his  bedclothes  close  about  him. 

In  the  next  room  Hedvig  was  talking  in  her 
sleep — something  about  cakes.  .  .  . 

^^Herregud!''''  murmured  her  mother — "dreaming 
of  cakes  means  illness.  I  hope  it  doesn't  mean 
Emanuel's  going  to  get  the  chickenpox." 

With  a  sigh  she  fell  off  to  sleep. 

The  clock  struck  two. 


XIII 

MADAM  HERMANSEN  came  into  every 
house  in  Knarreby,  without  exception — 
whence  follows,  that  she  came  to  Egholm's. 

How  she  m.anaged  to  effect  an  entry  there,  where 
shutters  and  bolts  were  carefully  set  to  hide  the 
shame  of  poverty,  is  not  stated. 

Presumably,  she  came  of  herself,  like  most 
diseases — and  she  came  again  and  again,  like  a  series 
of  bad  relapses.  She  literally  clung  to  the  Egholms, 
and  almost  neglected  her  other  visits  therefor. 

They  were  somehow  more  remarkable  than 
others,  she  thought.     They  had  a  past. 

Madam  Hermansen  herself  was  tolerated — almost, 
one  might  say,  esteemed.  At  any  rate,  no  attempt 
was  ever  made  to  find  a  cure  for  her.  Egholm 
enjoyed  the  abundant  laughter  with  which  she  greeted 
even  the  most  diluted  sample  of  his  wit,  and  Fru 
Egholm  needed  someone  to  confide  in. 

It  was  all  very  well  for  him.  In  his  all  too  ex- 
tensive leisure,  he  made  excursions  through  the 
town,  spending  hours  in  talk  with  fishermen  down 
at  the  harbour,  or  going  off  for  solitary  walks  along 
the  shore  or  in  the  woods.     She,  on  the  other  hand, 


1 56  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

could  only  trip  about  in  the  two  small  rooms,  with 
never  a  sight  of  the  sun  beyond  the  narrow  strip  that 
drew  like  the  hand  of  a  clock  across  the  kitchen  floor 
from  four  till  half-past  seven  in  the  morning.  And 
no  one  to  talk  to  but  her  husband  and  the  children. 
Little  wonder,  then,  that  the  flow  of  speech  so  long 
held  back  poured  forth  in  flood  when  Madam  Her- 
mansen  began  deftly  working  at  the  sluices. 

The  talk  itself  was  but  a  detail,  that  cropped  up 
before  one  knew,  thought  Fru  Egholm  at  times  ;  but 
if  she  had  not  had  someone  to  look  at  her  needlework, 
why,  in  the  long  run,  it  would  mean  sinking  down  to 
the  level  of  a  man. 

True,  Madam  Hcrmanscn  was  no  connoisseur  of 
art,  but  a  dollymop  who  never  achieved  more  than 
the  knitting  of  stockings  herself.  On  the  other 
hand,  she  was  ready  to  prostrate  herself  in  admira- 
tion of  even  the  most  trivial  piece  of  embroidery  or 
crochet-work.     There  was  something  in  that.  .  .  . 

"  Why,  it  almost  turns  my  head  only  to  look 
at  it,"  she  declared,  fingering  the  coverlet  for  the 
chest  of  drawers.  It  was  one  afternoon  in  May,  and 
the  two  women  were  alone  in  the  house  with  little 
Emanuel . 

"  Oh,  you  could  learn  it  yourself  in  five  minutes." 
Fru  Egholm  flushed  with  pride,  and  her  hands  flew 
over  the  work.  "  No,  but  you  should  see  a  thing 
I  made  just  before  we  left  Odcnsc.     Fancy  crochet." 

"  Heaven    preserve    us !      Me  !      Never    to    my 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  157 

dying  day  !     It's  more  than  I'm  ever  likely  to  learn, 
I'm  sure.     What  was  it  you  called  it  ?  " 

"  Fancy  crochet.  And  then  I  lost  it — it  was  a 
cruel  shame,  really.     And  such  a  lovely  pattern." 

"  Stolen  ?  "  cried  Fru  Hermansen,  slapping  her 
thighs. 

"  No.  I  gave  it  away  to  a  woman  that  came 
up  to  congratulate  when  Emanuel  was  born.  She 
praised  it  up,  and  I  saw  what  she  meant,  of  course. 
But  here's  another  thing  you  must  see." 

She  rose,  and  took  out  a  pin-cushion  from  a 
drawer. 

"  There's  nothing  special  about  that,  of 
course.  .  .  ." 

But  Madam  Hermansen  declared  she  had  never 
seen  anything  like  it.  The  pale  pink  silk  showing  all 
glossy  through  under  the  crochet  cover  was  simply 
luxurious. 

"  Ah  yes  !  That's  the  sort  of  things  a  body 
would  like  to  have  about  the  house,"  she  said,  turning 
it  over  in  her  chapped  and  knotty  hands.  "  And 
what  do  you  use  a  thing  like  that  for,  now  ?  " 

"  Oh,  fine  ladies  use  it  for  brooches  and  things. 
But  it's  mostly  meant  for  a  young  girl,  you  know, 
to  have  on  a  chest  of  drawers,  this  way.  .  .  ." 

"  Yes,  yes,  that's  much  the  best.  Why,  it  would 
be  a  sin  and  a  shame  to  stick  pins  in  a  thing  like 
that." 

"  Look  here,"  said  Fru  Egholm,  flushing,  "  you 


iS8  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

keep  it.     Yes,  do ;  it's  yours.     No,  no  ;  do  as  I  say — 
and  we'll  speak  no  more  about  it." 

Madam  Hermansen  made  a  great  fuss  of  protest, 
but  allowed  herself  to  be  persuaded,  and  thrust  it  under 
her  shawl.     She  held  it  as  if  it  had  been  a  live  lobster. 

And  Fru  Egholm  brought  out  other  things. 
There  was  a  newspaper  holder  worked  with  poppies, 
and  a  cushion  embroidered  on  canvas. 

"  There's  little  pleasure  in  having  them,"  she 
sighed.  "  Egholm,  he  doesn't  value  it  more  than 
the  dirt  under  his  feet." 

"  Ah  !  It's  just  the  same  with  Hermansen,  now. 
One  Sunday  afternoon  I  came  home  and  found  him, 
as  true  as  I'm  here,  sitting  on  the  curtains,  smoking, 
as  careless  as  could  be.  But  your  husband — I  thought 
he  was  a  model." 

"  Egholm  doesn't  smoke.  If  he  did,  he'd  be  just 
the  same.  But  I  can  tell  you  a  thing— just  to  show 
what  he  thinks  about  my  work.  Ah,  Madam  Her- 
mansen, take  my  word  for  it,  there's  many  a  slight 
a  woman  has  to  put  up  with  that  hurts  more  than  all 
your  blows." 

"  And  he's  been  on  the  railway,  too.  .  .  ." 

"  It  doesn't  change  human  nature,  after  all.  It 
was  these  here  things  from  the  auction  at  Gammel- 
hauge,  the  mirror  and  the  chest  of  drawers,  and  the 
big  chair  over  by  the  window,  and  that  very  one 
you're  sitting  in  now.  Now,  tell  me  honestly,  would 
you  call  them  nice  to  look  at  .''  " 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  159 

Madam  Hermansen  shifted  a  little  under  in  her 
big  green  shawl. 

"  They're  a  trifle  old  fashioned  to  my  mind." 
And  she  sniffed  disdainfully. 

"  Old  fashioned  and  worm  eaten  and  heavy  and 
clumsy — you  needn't  be  afraid  to  say  it.  Why,  it's 
almost  two  men's  work  to  lift  a  chair  like  that.  And 
as  for  the  glass — why,  it  makes  you  look  like  a  chimney- 
sweep. The  chest  of  drawers  is  not  so  bad;  it  does 
hold  a  good  deal.  Wools  and  odds  and  ends.  .  .  . 
But,  all  the  same  .  .  ." 

"  My  daughter  she  had  one  with  nickel  handles 
to  pull  out,"  said  Madam  Hermansen,  poking  at  it. 
"  And  walnut's  the  nicest  you  can  have,  so  the  joiner 
man  said." 

"  Yes,  that's  what  I  say.  But  what  do  you  think 
Egholm  said  ?  '  Rare  specimens,'  he  said — '  solid 
mahogany  !  '  Ugh  !  Well,  do  you  know  what  I 
did  ?  I  set  to  work  then  and  there  and  made  up 
something  to  cover  the  worst  of  it.  Those  butter- 
flies for  the  rocking-chair,  and  the  cloth  with  the 
stars  on  for  the  chest  of  drawers,  and  paper  roses 
to  put  in  by  the  mirror.  It  took  me  the  whole  of  a 
night,  but  I  wouldn't  have  grudged  it,  if  I'd  only 
got  a  thimbleful  of  thanks  for  my  pains.  And  now, 
just  listen,  and  I'll  tell  you  the  thanks  I  got.  One 
day  the  Sanitary  Inspector  came  round  to  have  a 
look  at  the  sink.  He'd  brought  a  whole  crowd  with 
him — it  was  a   commission  or  something,  with  the 


i6o  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

mayor  and  the  doctor  and  the  vet,  and  so  on.  Then 
one  of  them  gets  it  into  his  head  he'd  like  to  have  a 
look  round  the  place.  Egholm,  of  course,  waves  his 
hand  and  says, '  With  pleasure.'  And  never  a  thought 
in  his  head  of  anything  the  matter." 

Madam  Hermansen  nodded  sympathetically. 

"  Well,  they  came  in  through  the  kitchen  and 
stood  there  poking  about  at  the  sink  for  a  bit,  and 
while  they're  at  it,  Egholm  comes  in  here.  And 
then — what  do  you  say  to  this  ? — he  rushes  round 
the  room  and  pulls  it  all  off.  As  true  as  I'm  here  ; 
the  butterflies  and  the  paper  flowers,  and  the  toilet 
cover  and  all.  Threw  the  flowers  under  the  table, 
and  stuffed  the  rest  in  under  his  coat.  Now,  if  that 
isn't  simply  disgraceful.  .  .  ." 

"  And  what  did  you  say  to  him  ?  "  Madam 
Hermansen  shook  herself,  giving  out  a  perfume  of 
leeks  and  celery  from  under  her  shawl. 

"  Not  a  word.  I  had  to  keep  it  all  back,  and 
bow  and  scrape  to  the  gentlemen,  with  my  heart 
like  to  bursting  all  the  time.  '  We  must  take  all 
that  stuff  out  of  the  way  when  anyone  comes,'  he 
says  after.  Oh,  he's  that  full  of  his  fashionable 
notions,  there's  no  room  for  human  feeling  in  his 
breast.  And  if  there  is  one  thing  I  can't  abide,  it 
is  that  fashionable  nonsense." 

"  Well,  now,  I  don't  know  that  it's  altogether  put 
on,  you  know,  with  him,  seeing  he's  a  man  of  good 
family,  as  you  might  say." 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  i6i 

"Good  family— h'm.  As  to  that  .  .  ."  Fru 
Egholm  raised  her  eyebrows. 

"  Well,  well,  I  don't  know,  of  course,"  said  Madam 
Hermansen,  shifting  heavily  a  little  forward.  "  I 
thought  he  was  a  parson's  son,  and  his  parents  were 
dead  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed  he's  not.  Nothing  of  the 
kind." 

"  He's  not  a  circus  child,  is  he  ? — there's  some 
say  he  is." 

"  It  wouldn't  be  so  surprising,  with  all  his  antics 
generally.  But  the  real  truth  is,  he's  a  foundling — 
that  is  to  say,  illegitimate."  Fru  Egholm  uttered 
the  last  word  with  a  certain  coldness,  but  a  moment 
after  sighed  compassionately. 

"  You  don't  say  so  !  Well,  now,  I  never  did  .  .  ." 
Madam  Hermansen  sat  rocking  backwards  and  for- 
wards in  ecstasy,  and  as  she  realised  what  a  grand 
piece  of  news  she  had  got  hold  of,  a  silent  laughter 
began  bubbling  up  from  her  heart. 

Fru  Egholm  looked  at  her  in  some  surprise,  and, 
uncertain  how  to  take  her,  bent  over  the  cradle  and 
busied  herself  with  the  child. 

"  Why,  then.  Madam  Danielsen  was  right,  after 
all,"  said  Madam  Hermansen.  "  But  who  was  his 
mother,  then  ?  " 

"  Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  she  was  a  fine  lady,  and 
married    a    professor    after — and    that's    a    strange 
thing,  seeing  what  a  plenty  of  honest  girls  there  are 
II 


i62  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

about.  She  must  have  been  a  baggage,  though,  all 
the  same,  to  get  into  trouble  like  that." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Madam  Hermansen,  patting 
the  hairpins  that  jostled  each  other  in  a  knot  of  hair 
about  the  size  of  a  walnut.     "  And  his  father  .?  " 

"  Oh,  a  scatter-brained  fellow.  Government 
ofhcial,  they  called  him,  but  he  was  a  painter — an 
artist,  you  know — besides,  and  I  daresay  it  was  that 
was  his  undoing  in  the  end,  when  he  led  the  girl 
astray." 

"  But  I  thought  the  doctors  at  the  Foundling 
Hospital  were  under  oath  not  to  tell  who  the  parents 
were  ?  " 

"  That's  true  enough.  But  d'you  think  Egholm 
would  be  put  off  like  that  ?  No,  he  set  to  work — 
that  is,  when  he  was  grown  up — and  advertised  in 
Berlingske  Tidende,  putting  it  all  in,  so-and-so,  as 
if  he  didn't  know  what  shame  was.  And  then  his 
sister — half-sister,  that  is,  of  course — wrote  and  came 
along  of  her  own  accord.  Nice  enough  in  her  way, 
she  was,  too,  but  you  could  see  she  was  one  of  the 
same  sort.  .  .  ." 

Fru  Egholm  made  a  grimace  involving  numerous 
wrinkles  of  the  nose.  Madam  Hermansen  nodded  as 
one  who  understood. 

"  Yes  .  .  .  she  gave  herself  out  for  an  artist,  like 
her  father  had  been — and  she  was  the  image  of  him  to 
look  at,  too." 

"  But  I  thought  .  .   ," 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  163 

"  Well,  that  of  course,  in  a  way.  For  they  said 
she  used  to  go  sitting  in  a  public  place  and  painting 
pictures  with  a  man  stark  naked  as  a  model." 

"  Heaven  preserve  us !  "  gasped  Madam  Herman- 
sen.  "  In  all  my  born  days  .  .  .  Well,  she  must  have 
been  a  nice  one." 

"  She  and  Egholm  simply  slobbered  over  each 
other  with  their  affected  ways.  She  called  him  her 
dear  lost  brother,  and  how  glad  she  was  to  find  him 
again — and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  I  simply  said 
there  was  no  need  to  carry  on  too  much  about  it  that 
I  could  see,  for  if  they  had  grown  up  together,  like 
as  not  they'd  have  been  tearing  each  other's  eyes  out. 
He  was  a  terrible  child,  I  believe — used  to  pour  sand 
over  the  cake-man's  basket  outside  Rundetaarn,  and 
let  off  fireworks  in  the  street  and  so  on." 

"  And  his  father  wouldn't  acknowledge  him, 
then  ?  " 

"  No.  That  is  to  say,  his  father  made  haste  and 
died  when  the  boy  was  only  four  or  five  about,  but 
he'd  had  the  grace  to  set  aside  a  little  money  before- 
hand, so  Egholm  could  have  the  most  expensive 
schooling  there  ever  was.  And  it's  left  its  pretty 
mark  on  him,  as  you  can  hear  when  he  speaks." 

"  Well,  in  the  way  of  politeness,  as  you  might  say, 
he  certainly  is,"  said  Fru  Hermansen  warmly. 

"  Puh  !  When  there's  anyone  about,  yes,"  said 
Fru  Egholm.  She  was  not  in  the  humour  for  praising 
her    husband    just    now.      "  But    what's    he   like  at 


i64  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

home  ?  Ah — that's  where  you  get  to  know  people's 
hearts  !  " 

And  before  she  knew  it,  she  had  lifted  the  roof 
off  their  entire  abode,  making  plain  to  her  visitor 
that  which  had  formerly  been  shrouded  in  darkness. 

It  was  not  a  little. 

Madam  Hermansen  was  simply  speechless  when 
Fru  Egholm  showed  her,  with  tears,  the  scars  under 
her  eyes  and  the  little  spot  by  the  temple  where 
the  hair  was  gone. 

"  I  can't  understand  you  staying  another  day," 
she  said,  when  the  sufferer  stuck  fast  in  a  sob. 

"  Oh,  you  mustn't  talk  like  that.  When  you've 
vowed  before  thd  altar  .  .  ." 

"  Did  he  vow  before  the  altar  to  knock  you 
about  like  that,  eh  ?  Did  he  say  anything  about 
that  ?  " 

"  No — o."  Fru  Egholm  laughed  through  her 
tears,  anxious  to  bring  her  visitor  to  a  gentler  frame 
of  mind.  "  No,  and  it  would  be  no  more  than  his 
deserts  if  I  said  I  wouldn't  live  with  him  any  more. 
But  I  can't  help  it;  it's  not  in  my  nature  to  do  it. 
And,  after  all,  it's  his  business  how  he  treats  his  wife, 
isn't  it  ?  What's  it  to  do  with  me  .^  I  couldn't 
think  of  living  anywhere  but  where  he  is.  Love's 
not  a  thing  you  can  pull  up  by  the  roots  all  of  a 
sudden. 

"  'When  first  the  flame  of  love  wnrins  human  heart,  they  hltle  know 
What  harm  they  do  beyond  repair  who  make  it  cease  to  glow!'" 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  165 

"  Hymns  !  "  said  Madam  Hermansen  scornfully. 

"  Ah,  but  it's  just  hymns  and  such  that  lift  us  up 
nearer  to  God." 

"  Oh,  God's  all  right,  of  course,  but  it  doesn't 
do  in  this  world  to  leave  too  much  to  God." 

"  It's  all  we  poor  sinful  mortals  have.     Where  do 
you  suppose  I  should  ever  find  comfort  and  solace 
if  1  hadn't  God  to  turn  to  ?     Why,  He's  almighty. 
He's  even  done  things  with  Egholm  at  times.     When 
I  think  of  it,  I  feel  ashamed  of  myself  that  I  ever  can 
sit  and  complain.    Now,  just  by  way  of  example.  .  .  . 
It  was  the  day  we  came  over  here  from  Odense,  me 
and  the  children.     I'd  no  sooner  got  out  of  the  train 
than  he  puts  his  arms  round  me  and  kisses  me  right 
on    the    cheek.     And    what's    the    most    marvellous 
thing  about  it  all — I  can't  understand  it  to  this  day 
— he  did  it  right  in  front  of  three  or  four  girls  standing 
staring  at  us  all  the  time.     Ah,  Madam  Hermansen, 
take  my  word  for  it,  a  little  thing  like  that  gives  you 
strength  to  live  on  for  a  long  time  after.     And  then 
Egholm's  been  good  to  me  in  other  ways.     He  knows 
— Lord   forgive  me  that  I  should  say  it — that  I'm 
more  of  a  God-fearing  sort  than  he  is  himself.     And 
— I  don't  know  how  to  put  it — that  my  God's — well, 
more  genuine,  as  you  might  say,  than  his.     I'll  tell 
you  how  I  found  that  out,  Madam  Hermansen.     You 
know  it  was  said  the  end  of  the  world  was  to  come  a 
few  years  back.     It  was  in  all  the  papers,  and  Egholm, 
he  took  it  all  in  for  gospel  truth,  because  lie  said  it 


i66  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

agreed    with    the    signs    in    the     Revelations,    you 
know.  .  .  ." 

"  And  did  it  come  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  it  didn't — or  we  shouldn't  be 
sitting  here  now,  should  wc  ?  But  Egholm,  he  was 
as  sure  as  could  be  it  was  going  to  happen,  on  the 
thirteenth  of  November,  and  when  it  was  only  the 
eighth,  he  came  and  told  me  to  make  up  a  bed  for 
one  of  us  on  the  lloor.  We'd  always  been  used  to 
sleep  together  in  one  bed." 

"  But  what  did  he  want  to  change  for  ?  "  asked 
Madam  Ilermansen,  with  increasing  interest. 

"  Why,"  explained  Fru  Egholm  eagerly,  "  you 
see — he  confessed  himself  why  it  was  ;  he  was  wonder- 
fully gentle  those  days.  He  wouldn't  have  us  sleep- 
ing together — not  because  of  anything  indecent  or 
that  sort,  but  because  it  says  in  the  Bible  that  on  the 
Day  of  Judgment  there  may  be  two  people  sleeping 
in  the  same  bed,  '  and  the  one  shall  be  taken  and 
the  other  left.' " 

"  So,  you  see.  Madam  Hermanscn,  I  soon  reckoned 
out  what  he  thought,  how  I  might  get  to  heaven 
after  all." 

"  And  he's  never  been  in  love  with  anybody — 
outside^  I  mean  ?  " 

"  There's  one  he's  in  love  with,"  laughed  Fru 
Egholm — "  more  than  anything  else  in  the  world. 
And  that's — himself !  No,  thank  goodness  he's  never 
had  time  for  that  sort  of  thing,  being  too  busy  with 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  167 

his  steam-engine  inventions.  Now  I  think  of  it, 
though,  there  was  a  girl  once,  when  he  was  quite 
young,  over  in  Helsingor.  Clara  Steen  was  her  name. 
You'll  have  heard  of  Consul  Steen,  no  doubt  ; 
he's  ever  so  rich.  His  daughter,  it  was.  And  she 
ran  after  him  to  such  a  degree.  .  .  .  Why,  he  used 
to  write  verses  to  her.  Though  I  don't  count  that 
anything  very  much  against  him,  for  he's  written 
poetry  to  me,  too,  in  the  days  when  we  were 
engaged." 

She  thrust  a  practised  hand  into  her  workbox, 
and  fished  up  a  yellowed  scrap  of  paper,  and  read  : 

"  '  Helsingor  by  waters  bright 
Like  a  Venice  to  the  sight, 

All  the  world  thy  fame  doth  know.  i 

Beeches  fair  around  thee  grow, 
And  the  fortress  with  its  crown 
Looks  majestically  down,  .  .  .'  " 

Fru  Hermansen  relapsed  into  an  envious  silence, 
absently  investigating  her  nostrils  with  one  finger. 
Fru  Egholm  took  out  some  new  hair,  and  compared 
the  colour  with  that  she  was  using. 

"  Think  that  will  do  ?  "  she  asked  ingratiatingly. 

"  Well,  it  ought  to.  It's  a  deal  prettier  than  the 
other." 

"  But  it  oughtn't  to  be  !  You're  supposed  to 
have  all  the  same  coloured  hair  in  one  plait." 

"  Ugh  !  I've  no  patience  with  all  their  affected 
ways,"  said  Fru  Hermansen  sullenly.  She  was 
disappointed  at  finding  the  conversation  turned  to 


i68  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

something  of  so  little  interest  by  comparison.  "  What 
was  I  going  to  say  now  ?  "  she  went  on.  "  Was  it 
just  lately  he  knocked  you  about  like  that  ?  " 

"  Ye — es,  of  course.  But  no  worse  than  before. 
Not  nearly  so  bad.  And  anyhow,  if  he  did,  I  suppose 
it  was  God's  will.  Or  else,  perhaps,  he  can't  help  it, 
by  reason  of  always  having  an  unruly  mind." 

She  checked  herself  with  a  sudden  start,  and 
her  busy  hands  fell  to  patting  aimlessly  here  and 
there. 

"  I  think  it  must  be  toothache,"  she  said  in  a 
loud,  drawling,  careless  voice,  altogether  different 
from  her  former  manner. 

"  Toothache  ?  .  .  ."  Madam  Hermansen  sat 
with  her  mouth  wide  open  for  a  moment — then  she, 
too,  caught  the  sound  of  Egholm's  approaching  step. 
"  Yes,  yes,  of  course,  it  would  be  toothache,  yes, 
yes.  .  .  ."  And  she  chuckled  with  a  sound  like  the 
rattle  of  a  rake  on  a  watering-can. 

"  Emanuel,  I  mean,  of  course,"  said  Fru  Egholm 
confusedly,  as  her  husband  walked  in.  He  was 
carrying  a  huge  paper  bag,  that  looked  as  if  it  might 
burst  at  any  minute. 

He  set  it  down  carefully,  and  joined  in  the  con- 
versation. 

"  Now,  if  onlyAnna  would  let  me,"  he  said  eagerly, 
*'  I'd  cure  that  child  in  no  time." 

"  I've  heard  you  can  do  all  sorts  of  wonders,  so 
people  say."     Fru  Hermansen  leaned  back  with  her 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  169 

hands  folded  across  her  lap,  and  looked  up  admiringly 
at  Egholni. 

"  Why,  I  know  a  trifle  of  the  secrets  of  Nature, 
that's  all.  As  for  toothache,  there's  no  such  thing. 
The  youngster  there — what's  his  name,  now? — 
Emanuel,  is  suffering  from  indigestion,  nothing  more. 
Give  him  a  plate  of  carrots  chopped  up  fine,  mixed 
with  equal  parts  of  sand  and  gravel,  morning  and 
evening,  and  he'd  be  all  right  in  a  couple  of  days." 

"  Never  as  long  as  I  live !  "  said  Fru  Egholm. 

"  Powdered  glass  is  very  effective,  too,"  went  on 
Egholm,  encouraged  by  Fru  Hermansen's  laughter, 
and  putting  on  a  thoughtful  expression. 

"  I'll  not  see  a  child  of  mine  murdered  that  or 
any  other  way,"  said  the  mother. 

"  Oh,  but  you'd  see  what  a  difference  it  would 
make.  I'm  quite  in  earnest.  Haven't  you  heard 
that  fowls  have  to  have  gravel  ?  I  noticed  it  myself 
yesterday  with  my  own  eyes,  saw  them  pecking  it 
up.  And  the  idea  came  to  me  at  once.  I've  half 
a  mind,  really,  to  set  up  as  a  quack  doctor.  .  .  ." 

Egholm  was  interrupted  by  a  sudden  splash 
behind  him.  The  paper  bag  he  had  placed  on  the 
chest  of  drawers,  dissolved  by  the  moisture  of  some- 
thing within,  had  burst ;  a  lump  of  squashy-looking 
semi-transparent  stuff  had  slipped  to  the  floor,  and 
more  threatened  to  follow. 

Fru  Egholm,  sorrowful  and  indignant,  hurried 
to  save  her  embroidered  slip  from  further  damage. 


I70  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

"  Don't  go  spoiling  my  jelly-fish  !  Better  bring 
a  plate,  or  a  dish  or  something." 

"  What  on  earth  are  they  for,  now  ? "  asked  Madam 
Hermansen. 

"  That's  a  great  secret.  For  the  present,  at  any 
rate.  Well,  I  don't  know ;  I  may  as  well  tell  you, 
perhaps.  These  ...  are  jelly-fish — Medusae."  He 
tipped  the  contents  out  into  a  washing-basin,  and 
poked  about  among  the  quivering  specimens.  "  Look, 
here's  a  red  one — the  sort  they  call  stingers.  If 
you  touch  one,  it  stings  you  like  nettles.  The  others 
are  harmless — just  touch  one  and  try.  Smooth  and 
luscious,  like  soapsuds,  what  ?  " 

Madam  Hermansen  advanced  one  hand  hesi- 
tatingly, but  drew  it  back  with  a  scream. 

"  Isn't  it  ?  "  said  Egholm,  undismayed.  "  Well, 
now,  what  do  you  think  they're  for  ?  Shall  I  tell 
you  ?  Why,  soaf  !  There's  only  one  thing  lacking 
to  make  them  into  perfect  soap — a  touch  of  lime  to 
get  a  grip  on  the  dirt — and  perhaps  a  trifle  of  scent. 
And,  only  think,  they're  lying  about  on  the  beach  in 
thousands,  all  to  no  use.  Yes  .  .  .  I'll  start  a  soap 
factory,  that's  what  I'll  do." 

"  I  thought  you  said  you  were  going  to  be  a 
doctor,"  said  Fru  Egholm,  with  an  innocent  ex- 
pression, winking  at  Madam  Hermansen. 

"  Both.  And  then  we  can  save  on  the  adver- 
tising. '  Egholm's  United  Surgeries  and  Soap 
Factories.'  " 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  171 

"  And  one  as  bad  as  the  other."  Anna  had  to 
shout  aloud  to  make  herself  heard  through  the  tempest 
of  Madam  Hermansen's  laughter. 

"  Say,  rather,  one  as  good  as  the  other.  Oh,  I 
shall  be  famous  all  over  Denmark,  all  over  Europe. 
We'll  have  an  advertisement  for  the  doctoring  on  all 
the  soap  wrappers  :   speciality— broken  legs  !  " 

"  If  only  you  don't  break  your  neck  holding  your 
head  in  the  air." 

"  Oh,  I  wasn't  thinking  of  bones,"  said  Egholm, 
delighted  with  the  effect  he  was  producing.  "  I  was 
referring  to  the  fracture  of  wooden  legs." 

"  Well,  now,  I  wonder  if  you  could  set  this  to 
rights  for  me  ? "  said  Fru  Hermansen,  patting  her  calf. 

"  Easily  !     What's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  that  it's  proper  for  me  to 
show  you,  but  never  mind.  We're  both  married 
folk.  This  leg  of  mine's  been  bad  for — let  me  see — 
fifteen  or  sixteen  years  it  is  now.  And  Dr.  Hoff,  he's 
no  idea,  the  way  he's  messed  about  with  it." 

Fru  Hermansen  turned  round,  set  her  foot  upon 
a  chair,  and  busied  herself  with  underclothing,  tying 
and  untying  here  and  there,  and  muttering  to  herself 
the  while. 

"  There,  you  have  a  look  at  it,"  she  said  at  last, 
with  a  laugh,  and  faced  round  again. 

She  had  a  rag  in  her  mouth,  and  her  face  was 
flushed  from  bending  down.  Her  skirts  were  lifted 
to  her  knees. 


172  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

From  the  ankle  up  over  the  shin,  ahnost  to  the 
kneecap,  was  a  long  red  sore,  yellowish  in  the  centre. 
It  looked  horribly  like  a  trail  of  some  climbing  plant. 

Egholm  put  out  a  hand  as  if  to  ward  off  the  sight, 
and  looked  away.  But  the  would-be  patient  said 
harshly  : 

"  And  you  going  to  be  a  doctor  !  If  you  can't 
abide  the  smell  of  hot  bread,  then  it's  no  good  going 
for  a  baker  !  " 

Egholm  overcame  his  reluctance,  knelt  down,  and 
began  examining  the  leg,  from  the  greenish-faded 
stocking  that  was  gathered  like  an  ankle-ring  at  the 
bottom,  to  the  knee,  where  a  garter  had  cut  deep 
brownish-red  furrows. 

"  Here's  the  mischief,"  he  said,  nodding  wisely. 
"  The  blood  can't  get  past  here,  and  that's  why  it 
can't  heal.  You'll  have  to  stop  wearing  garters  at 
once." 

"  Easy  to  hear  it's  a  man  that's  talking,"  laughed 
Fru  Egholm. 

"  And  then  we  must  draw  fresh  blood  to  the 
spot.     Let  me  see  .  .  ." 

"  I  should  think  you'd  have  seen  enough  by  this 
time." 

"  Fresh  blood  .  .  ."  he  murmured.  His  mind 
was  busy  choosing  and  rejecting  from  a  hundred 
different  things  ;  nothing  seemed  to  satisfy  him 
quite.  A  smile  of  irony  at  his  own  idea  curved  his 
lips ;  it  was  not  such  a  simple  matter,  after  all,  to  get 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  173 

to  work  with  Egholm's  United  Soap  Factories  and 
Surgeries,  specialising  in  leg  troubles. 

Suddenly  his  face  brightened  all  over. 

"  Those  jelly-fish — what  did  you  do  with  the 
dish  ?  " 

"  But,  Egholm — what  do  you  want  them  for 
now  ?  " 

"  You  leave  that  to  me.  We  want  something  to 
tickle  up  the  nerves,  and  draw  the  blood  to  the 
spot." 

He  picked  up  the  "  stinger  " — in  his  coat-tails — 
and  held  it  out.  It  was  domed  like  a  dish-cover,  and 
ornamented  with  a  fiery  double  star  at  the  top  ; 
innumerable  threads  of  slimy  stuff  hung  from  its 
lower  side. 

"  Suppose  we  put  that  on  the  sore  ?  " 

Madam  Hermansen,  in  her  first  amazement,  had 
hoisted  her  canvas  beyond  all  reasonable  limits  ; 
now,  she  let  all  down  with  a  run. 

"  None  of  your  games  with  me,  thank  you,"  she 
said  sharply. 

"  What  ? "  said  Egholm  in  surprise.  "  You 
won't  ?  I  warrant  you  the  leg  will  be  all  in  a  glow 
in  no  time.    And  then  it's  a  practically  certain  cure." 

He  waved  the  thing  enticingly  before  her,  ex- 
hibiting it  from  all  sides,  and  bending  it  to  show  the 
venomous  lips.  "  Why,  I  wouldn't  mind  putting  it 
on  myself." 

But  Madam  Hermansen's  face  was  dark  and  dis- 


174  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

couraging  ;    she  set  about  resolutely  wrapping  her 
tender  spot  in  all  its  armour  of  rags  and  bandages. 

"  And  quite  right  of  you,  I'm  sure,  Madam 
Hermansen,"  said  Fru  Egholm. 

"  Well,  well,  we  must  hit  on  something  else," 
said  Egholm.  "  I  won't  give  it  up.  But  it  must  be 
a  natural  cure  in  any  case.  The  sources  of  Nature 
are  manifold." 

And  by  way  of  restoring  good  humour  all  round, 
he  began  telling  the  story  of  the  furniture  from 
Gammelhauge. 

"  Isn't  that  an  elegant  chair  I've  got  there  ?  Do 
for  a  throne  ;  look  at  the  coronet  on  the  back — it's 
almost  on  my  own  head  now  as  I  sit  here.  I've  just 
the  feel  of  an  old  nobleman,  a  general,  or  a  landed 
aristocrat,  in  this  chair.  Let's  bring  it  up  in  front 
of  the  glass.  What's  the  use  of  sitting  on  a  throne 
with  a  coronet  on  your  bald  pate  when  you  can't  see 
yourself  ?  " 

"  Now  I  suppose  you'll  be  putting  a  new  glass 
in  the  mirror — another  twenty — thirty — forty — fifty 
kroner  gone,  but  that's  nothing,  of  course,"  cried 
Madam  Hermansen. 

"  Not  in  the  least,  my  dear  lady.  In  this  glass  it 
was  that  the  splendidly  attired  knights  and  ladies 
surveyed  their  magnificence  before  the  feasting 
commenced." 

It  could  be  seen  from  Egholm's  movements  how 
a  knight  and  his  lady  were  wont  to  prance  and  preen 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  175 

themselves  before  a  mirror.  A  little  after,  he  added 
in  a  voice  of  mystery  : 

"  I  have  often  seen  shadows  moving  by  in  there, 
of  an  evening." 

"  Ugh  !  The  nasty  thing  !  I  wouldn't  have  it  in 
my  house  for  anything,"  said  Madam  Hermansen, 
with  a  shiver. 


XIV 

EGHOLM  took  his  washing-basin  across  to  the 
studio,  which  had  been  fitted  up  at  one  end 
of  the  carpenter's  store  shed.  The  jelly- 
fish he  placed  for  the  present  as  far  in  under  the  table 
as  possible. 

First  of  all,  he  must  get  some  work  done.     There 

1^  were  Sunday's   negatives    to   develop — he  could  be 

thinking  a  bit  while  he  was  doing  that.     Egholm 

found  the    new   dark-room    an  excellent   place  for 

thought,  free  from  all  disturbance. 

Yes,  he  would  think  over  that  turbine. 

That  jelly-fish  soap  business  was  merely  an  idea 
— quite  possibly,  indeed  probably,  a  good  idea.  But 
the  turbine,  the  reversible  steam-turbine,  was  the 
child  of  his  heart,  born  of  him,  conceived  by  him 
in  a  length  of  sleep-forsaken  nights.  Once  brought 
forth  to  the  world,  it  would  be  greeted  with  ac- 
clamation. 

It  was  imminent,  it  was  hovering  in  the  air,  this 
question  of  something  to  replace  the  more  com- 
plicated steam-engine.  The  English  had  come  very 
near  to  a  solution  already. 

But,  for  all  that,  it  might  perhaps  be  reserved  for 

176 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  177 

himself,  for  Egholm  the  Dane,  to  show  them  how  to 
make  their  turbine  reverse. 

He  could  think  of  more  than  one  thing  at 
a  time.  As  long  as  he  could  cast  out  sufficient 
ballast,  he  could  always  find  a  new  direction  of 
the  wind  to  carry  his  thought.  Nearest  earth 
was  the  current  connected  with  his  work,  but  even 
that  was  no  less  erratic  than  those  of  the  higher 
strata. 

Might  as  well  try  the  new  developer  to-day,  he 
thought  to  himself,  and  set  out  his  dishes  all  ready. 
Then  he  went  into  the  studio  again,  and  began  study- 
ing the  recipes  he  had  scrawled  up  from  time  to  time 
on  the  plank  wall  of  the  dark-room.  Already  there 
were  so  many  of  them  that  the  list  reached  to  the 
floor.  He  had  to  go  down  on  his  knees  to  see  if  it 
said  25  gr.  or  35  gr.  Suddenly  he  forgot  what  he 
was  there  for,  and  remained  lying  prone,  thinking 
only  of  his  steam-turbine  ;  it  seemed  to  him  the 
axle  bearings  ought  to  be  made  with  a  little  more 
stability  yet.  The  slightest  oscillation,  of  course, 
would  mean  an  escape  of  steam — waste  of  power. 
Then,  becoming  aware  of  his  posture,  he  wondered 
how  he  had  got  there,  but,  finding  himself  on  his 
knees,  he  at  once,  as  a  practical  man,  decided  to 
utilise  the  opportunity,  and  started  off  on  a  long 
and  earnest  prayer  to  God  for  the  furtherance  of 
his  idea.  It  was,  indeed,  not  merely  a  point  of 
honour  with  him  that  it  should  succeed,  but  also, 
12 


178  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

he  might  as  well  confess,  a  hoped-for  way  out  of  his 
present  difficulties. 

The  photography  business  had  turned  out  a 
desperate  failure — there  was  no  denying  it. 

The  only  people  who  came  at  all  were  the  peasants 
who  came  into  town  on  Sundays.  Of  these,  quite 
a  good  number  patronised  the  studio,  but,  unfor- 
tunately, they  did  not  always  come  for  the  photos 
they  had  ordered.  They  were  not  impressed  by  his 
skill  when  they  found  the  studio  situate  in  a  wood- 
shed at  the  back  of  Andreasen's,  with  the  camera 
perched  on  a  cement  barrel  instead  of  a  tripod.. 

The  fine  folk  of  the  place,  in  accordance  with  an 
established  tradition,  always  went  over  to  the  neigh- 
bouring town  for  their  photographs.  It  didn't  seem 
to  count,  somehow,  unless  they  did. 

They  were  just  as  superficial  in  their  judgment 
as  the  peasants,  and  paid  more  heed  to  a  smart  shop 
than  to  the  artistic  execution  of  the  pictures. 

Here  Egholm  laughed  to  himself.  The  photo- 
graphs he  turned  out  could  hardly  be  included  under 
the  heading  of  art  at  all,  and  he  knew  it.  But  was 
there  anything  surprising  in  that  ?  In  the  first 
place,  how  could  anyone  help  becoming  dulled  by 
so  much  adversity,  and  in  the  second — oh,  well,  in 
the  second  place,  why  the  devil  should  he  put  himself 
out  for  all  and  sundry,  when  it  was  only  a  question 
of  time  before  he  threw  aside  his  mask  and  revealed 
himself  as  a  world-renowned  inventor  ? 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  179 

Smilingly  he  set  to  rocking  his  plates  in  their 
bath,  and  as  the  work  went  on,  he  bored  out,  in  his 
mind,  the  steam  channels  of  his  turbine,  and  decided 
on  the  cogwheel  transference. 

He  held  a  negative  up  to  the  light,  and  recog- 
nised three  of  his  customers  grouped  about  the 
little  round  table.  Yes,  it  was  those  three  that  had 
taken  such  particular  care  to  have  the  labels  on 
their  beer  bottles  facing  neatly  front,  towards  the 
observer. 

Ho,  ho  !  And  that  was  the  sort  one  had  to  bow 
and  scrape  to  ! 

Unfortunately,  this  business  of  the  turbine  was 
not  a  matter  to  be  settled  in  a  moment.  Rothe, 
the  ironfounder,  had  promised  to  make  him  the 
larger  parts,  and  Krogh,  the  smith,  who  had  at  first 
answered  gruffly  and  bent  farther  over  his  intricate 
lock  work,  had  been  completely  won  over  as  an 
adherent.  The  next  thing  was  to  procure  a  boat 
into  which  the  turbine  could  be  built. 

Now,  where  on  earth  could  he  get  a  boat  for  no 
money  at  all  ?  Well,  never  mind  ;  imagine  the  boat 
was  there.  Then  the  upright  boiler  would  have  to 
be  set  in  there,  a  trifle  aft  of  midships,  so  that  the 
man  at  the  helm  could  stoke  as  well.  As  for  the 
screw,  that  would  require  special  treatment  in  these 
waters,  where  there  was  so  much  weed  about.  He 
would  have  to  go  into  that. 

Egholm's  mind  was  so  keen  that  he  saw  every 


i8o  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

detail.     Difficulties  were  disposed  of  as  fast  as  they 
appeared. 

Not  till  the  last  of  the  plates  glided  into  the 
fixing  solution  did  he  come  to  himself,  and  then  to 
find  his  heart  pumping  like  the  steam-turbine  at  full 
speed.  It  was  always  like  that  when  he  had  been 
long  at  work  in  the  dark-room.  He  threw  open  the 
door  and  went  out,  but  the  light  and  the  fresh  air 
turned  him  dizzy  and  blind  for  the  moment ;  he 
staggered  to  a  bench,  and  had  to  sit  there  some  time 
before  he  recovered. 


XV 

HEDVIG  knew  how  to  make  herself  respected. 
She  and  her  father  glared  at  each  other  with 
eyes  alert  and  claws  ready,  but  it  was  rarely 
anything  more  came  of  it.  She  had  a  place  at  the 
baker's,  running  errands  for  six  kroner  a  month,  which 
was  no  small  sum  for  a  girl  still  at  school.  Anyhow, 
it  was  practically  half  their  rent. 

Yet  she  was  a  strange  little  creature,  not  like  other 
children,  and  her  confidence  slipped  somehow  between 
her  mother's  fingers. 

Many  a  night  the  keyhole  of  the  door  to  her  little 
room  still  showed  a  speck  of  light  by  the  time  the 
clock  struck  twelve,  or  even  one.  Her  mother  lay 
anxiously  listening  to  Egholm's  snore  ;  there  was  no 
saying  what  terrible  thing  might  happen  if  he  were  to 
wake  and  find  it  out.  But  Hedvig  would  listen  to 
reproaches  the  next  morning  with  an  unfathomable 
expression  on  her  face,  or  smile,  and  shake  her  head. 
The  pocket  of  her  dress  bulged  with  a  new  novel 
every  other  day. 

'*  You  should  tell  your  mother  what  it  says  in 
those  silly  books  you're  always  reading,"  said  Fru 
Egholm  admonishingly. 

i8t 


1 82  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

"  Oh,  you'd  never  understand  a  word  of  it," 
was  all  Hedvig  answered. 

One  day  she  had  stuck  up  a  picture  over  her  bed, 
showing  a  man  and  a  woman,  tied  together  with  a 
rope,  flinging  themselves  into  the  water  from  a 
bridge.  A  yellow  half-moon  shone  through  the 
tree-tops  and  was  reflected  in  the  water.  Hedvig 
stood  quietly,  apparently  indifferent,  as  her  mother 
tore  it  down  and  told  in  vehement  words  how  sinful 
it  was  to  look  at  such  things.  But  when  her  mother 
moved  to  hold  it  over  the  lamp,  the  girl  flung  herself 
suddenly  in  front  of  her  with  wild  screams,  and 
would  not  be  brought  to  her  senses  until  she  had  the 
horrible  picture  safely  put  away  in  her  workbox. 

Now,  who  would  ever  believe  that  this  was  the 
same  good  little  Hedvig  that  the  baker's  people 
always  said  a  good  word  for,  and  who  could  always 
manage  to  find  a  way  when  it  was  a  case  of  helping 
others  !  Fuel,  for  instance — Egholm  did  not  seem 
to  have  the  instinct  of  acquiring  fuel.  But  Hedvig 
was  a  little  marvel  in  that  way — though,  no  doubt,  it 
was  largely  through  the  help  of  Marinus  in  the  work- 
shop, to  give  him  his  due.  He  always  tucked  away 
odd  bits  under  his  work-bench  for  her.  He  was  a 
kindly  sort,  was  Marinus.  And  he  seemed  particu- 
larly fond  of  Hedvig,  and  she  of  him — that  is  to 
say,  at  times.  For  it  was  towards  Marinus  that  her 
fickleness  of  humour  showed  itself  most  of  all.  Some- 
times when  she  had  been  in  the  workshop  she  would 


EGHOLM  AND  HTS  GOD  183 

come  back  and  fall  into  a  fit  of  miserable  weeping  ; 
at  other  times  she  would  rush  in  at  once  the  moment 
he  tapped  with  his  rule  on  the  pane,  whether  she 
wanted  firewood  for  the  kitchen  or  no.  And  as  to 
getting  any  explanation  out  of  her — that,  of  course, 
was  hopeless. 

Otherwise,  she  was  particularly  good  at  telling 
things,  and  both  her  father  and  her  mother  were 
often  amused  at  her  way  of  relating  little  things  that 
had  passed. 

Her  father  even  had  a  speciality  of  his  own  in 
this  respect  ;  he  loved  to  hear  of  the  money  Hedvig 
took  across  the  counter  when  she  was  minding  shop 
while  her  mistress  was  at  dinner. 

Then  it  would  be  Wassermann,  the  Customs 
officer,  who  came  in  and  bought  best  part  of  a  tray  of 
mixed  pastries— he  was  such  a  sweet  tooth.  Then 
perhaps  there  would  be  a  message  from  Etatsraadens' 
for  sixty  butter  puffs  for  to-morrow  morning. 

"  Sixty !  "  cried  her  father.  "  And  what  do  they 
cost  apiece  ?  " 

"  Three  ore — but,  Lord !  that's  nothing  to  them 
at  all.  No,  you  should  have  seen  the  order  that  came 
in  the  day  they  had  their  garden  party.  Five  cakes 
with  icing  and  marzipan." 

"  Why,  the  bakers  must  be  making  a  fortune." 

"  They've  made  it  already.  Mistress  bought  a 
new  hat  the  other  day." 

"  What  was  on  it  ?  "  asked  her  mother.     But  her 


i84  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

father  leaned  back  with  closed  eyes,  feeling  as  if  his 
own  thirst  were  assuaged  for  the  moment  by  the  flow 
of  money  Hedvig  dipped  her  fingers  in. 

He  was  feverish,  and  needed  something  cooling. 
Here  he  was  in  the  throes  of  his  invention,  and  could 
not  get  it  out. 

Not  a  step  nearer.  No  boat,  nothing.  And  it 
was  nearly  autumn  now.  The  trees  stood  there  with 
their  round  juicy  fruits.  But,  in  his  mind,  it  was  all 
flowers.  Was  there  anyone  in  all  Knarreby  so  poor 
as  the  Egholms  ?  Unless  it  were  Bisserup,  the  brush- 
maker.  And  yet  Egholm  had  spared  no  pains.  He 
had  tried  Etatsraaden,  tried  Bro,  the  grocer,  Rothe, 
the  ironfounder  ;  practically  speaking,  everyone  of 
means  in  the  place.  He  had  also,  by  the  way,  tried 
those  without  means.  Altogether,  he  had  not 
passed  by  many  an  open  ear  without  shouting  into 
it  something  about  Egholm's  fore-and-aft  turbine. 
Rothe  had  promised  to  make  the  castings  for  him,  but 
that  was  all. 

He  looked  at  Hedvig.  She  stood  up,  reaching 
with  her  thin,  girlish  arms  for  the  parcel  with  her 
white  apron  in,  up  on  the  dresser.  Off  to  her  work. 
Off  to  all  that  money  again. 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  he  said.  There  was  a  slight 
pause  then,  before  he  could  stammer  out  his  pro- 
posal— that  they  should  all  kneel  down  and  pray  to 
God.  He  did  not  know  why,  but  it  must  be  now, 
just  at  this  moment,  he  said. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  185 

This  was  by  no  means  a  new  and  unheard-of 
thing  ;  on  the  contrary,  it  had  been  known  as  far 
back  as  Hedvig  could  remember. 

"  It'll  keep  till  this  evening,  won't  it  ?  "  she  said. 
"  I  shall  be  late  if  I  stay  behind  now." 

"  '  Seek  first  the  kingdom  of  God  and  righteous- 
ness. .  .  .'" 

"  Ha  !  "  A  single  sound,  like  the  scream  of  a 
cockerel,  escaped  from  Hedvig.  It  was  the  first 
time  she  had  openly  derided  her  father's  godhness. 
She  regretted  it  bitterly  next  moment.  True,  the 
door  out  to  the  alley-way  was  open,  just  at  her  left, 
but  what  was  the  good  of  escaping  herself  when  her 
mother  was  left  behind  to  face  what  would  come  ? 
She  knew  what  it  was  to  come  home  in  high  spirits 
from  her  work,  and  find  her  mother  weeping,  perhaps 
bruised  into  the  bargain.  She  had  no  wish  to  ex- 
perience that  again. 

The  tears  were  gathering  already ;  something  was 
choking  her. 

Egholm  set  his  hands  on  the  arms  of  his  chair, 
to  spring  up  and  dash  out  into  the  kitchen,  but  his 
anger  seemed  to  snap  in  the  middle. 

In  a  sudden  glimpse  of  vision  he  saw  Hedvig  in  a 
new  light.  The  slip  of  a  girl,  whose  naughtinesses 
he  had  been  at  such  pains  to  weed  out,  was  no  longer 
a  slip  of  a  girl  and  merely  naughty — she  was  a 
sinner. 

Every  line  of    her  figure,   every  feature  in  her 


1 86  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

face  spoke  blasphemy.  She  stood  there  with  the 
challenge  of  an  idol. 

With  a  strangely  sweet  horror  her  father  noted 
all  :  her  guilty  mouth,  half-open,  with  lips  pale 
and  narrow,  yet  fresh,  and  teeth  white  as  almonds, 
whence  issued  that  hell-born  defiance.  Her  blood 
must  be  evil  as  smoking  brimstone. 

Egholm  sank  back  powerless  in  his  chair. 

But  a  moment  later  a  new  feeling  came  over 
him.  How  great  a  thing  would  it  be  to  bring  this 
child  of  sin  to  God,  with  bowed  head  and  folded 
hands.  "  There  is  more  joy  in  heaven  over  one 
sinner  that  repentcth,  than  of  the  ninety  and  nine 
which  need  no  repentance."  So  the  Scripture  said. 
Hedvig  would  be  a  heavenly  subject  for  conversion. 

And  there  could  be  no  doubt  but  that  God  would 
appreciate  the  efforts  of  the  one  who  had  borne  the 
trial  of  that  conversion. 

Hedvig  stood  with  her  back  to  him,  slightly 
stooping,  as  if  awaiting  the  blow.  She  started  when 
her  father  came  out  and  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder 
instead. 

The  conversion  process  appeared  strangely  easy; 
yes,  she  should  always  find  something  to  say  to  the 
bakers  by  way  of  excuse.  She  set  to  work  at  once 
pulling  the  chairs  aside  to  make  room. 

Her  father  looked  crestfallen  and  unsatisfied. 
He  had  been  prepared  for  a  struggle — but  this  was 
too  easy. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  187 

Still,  he  had  something  in  reserve.  Little 
Emanuel,  whose  inconsiderable  length  of  days  might 
serve  as  warrant  for  his  innocence,  was  set  on  a 
pillow  in  the  middle  of  the  floor. 

"  Put  something  under  your  knees,  Hedvig  dear," 
said  her  mother. 

"  No  need  of  that,"  said  Egholm,  thumping  his 
own  on  the  floor  with  unnecessary  force. 

"  Oh,  great  and  merciful  God  .   .  ." 

"  You've  got  your  hat  on,  dear,"  said  Fru  Egholm 
mildly. 

He  sent  her  a  wrathful  glance,  but  laid  aside 
his  hat  with  much  dignity. 

"  Almighty  God,  Lord  of  Heaven  and  Earth  .  .  ." 

Egholm's  prayer  began  as  a  sonorous  common- 
place, an  echo  from  the  halls  of  the  Brethren  of  St. 
John.  But  gradually,  as  his  subject  grew  on  him, 
his  own  individual  religious  view  for  the  time  being 
showed  through. 

It  was  to  God  as  the  Owner  of  great  possessions 
that  he  prayed. 

If  any  had  asked  him  who  was  the  greatest  in- 
ventor in  the  world,  he  would  have  confessed,  with 
a  pious  bend  of  the  head,  that  it  was  one  of  the 
least  of  God's  servants,  an  unworthy  creature  by 
the  name  of  Egholm.  But  at  the  thought  that 
God  owned  the  fields,  the  woods,  and  the  cities— the 
lands  and  the  seas,  Egholm,  who  had  never  owned 
more  than  the  poor  clothes  he  wore   and  a  trifle  of 


1 88  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

old  furniture,  was  moved  to  prostrate  himself  before 
that  mighty  power. 

It  distressed  him,  however,  that  God  should 
suffer  those  possessions  of  His  to  be  put  to  ill  use, 
in  that  He  allowed  them  to  fall  into  the  wrong 
hands.  It  was  by  no  means  altogether  selfishness 
that  led  him,  Egholm,  here  to  point  out  himself  as 
one  who  would  be  a  true  and  grateful  steward  of 
even  the  largest  and  most  troublesome  estate. 

"  Am  I  not  Thy  son,  art  Thou  not  my  Father, 
whose  will  it  is  that  all  should  be  well  with  mc  ?  " 

Hedvig  heard  but  little  of  her  father's  words  : 
her  eyes  were  following  the  hands  of  the  clock  ;  it 
was  jerking  by  tiny  stages  on  towards  twelve.  There 
it  stopped,  and  seemed  to  linger  for  a  moment,  as  if 
inviting  the  figure  to  join  it  on  its  way  ;  then  on 
again,  irrevocably  on  and  on.  She  clenched  her 
teeth  in  impotent  fury.  Then  suddenly  a  new  note 
was  touched  in  her  father's  prayer — something  which 
made  her  all  attention. 

He  had  commenced,  quite  advisedly,  with  the 
practical  human  tactics  of  praising  those  qualities 
in  the  Lord  which  he  himself  wished  to  call  forth 
towards  himself. 

"  Thy  goodness  is  without  end  and  beyond  all 
measure.  So  great  is  Thy  love  to  us  poor  children 
of  men,  that  Thou  hearcst  every  prayer  we  offer 
up  to  Thee,  and  grantest  it.  It  is  written  :  '  Ask, 
and  thou  shalt  receive  !  '     So  great  is  Thy  loving- 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  189 

kindness  unto  us,  that  Thou  wouldst  not  have  us 
suffer  more,  and  therefore  sayest,  let  there  be  an 
end.  Behold,  Egholm  Thy  servant  groaneth  under 
the  weight  of  poverty  ;  Thou  seest,  and  it  is  enough  ; 
Thou  sayest  the  word,  and  lo,  Thy  servant  cometh 
into  riches  and  happiness.  .  .  ." 

The  words  seemed  to  have  a  sort  of  hypnotic 
power  ;  for  a  moment,  Hedvig  quivered  with  hope 
that  it  might  really  come  to  pass.  Then  she  re- 
membered how  often  she  had  heard  the  same  thing ; 
how  many  times  she  had  been  forced  to  kneel  thus 
on  aching  knees  in  prayer  for  the  same,  but  to  no 
avail.  From  the  time  she  was  first  able  to  speak, 
her  tongue  had  praised  the  Lord.  Now,  it  revolted 
her  ;  something  within  her  seemed  to  rise  in  protest ; 
she  felt  that  she  hated  God. 

Never  for  a  moment  did  she  doubt  His  existence  ; 
on  the  contrary,  she  seemed  to  see  His  face.  But  it 
was  a  face  hard  and  cold  as  stone,  with  eyes  looking 
absently  out.  The  ardent  prayers  of  men  were 
powerless  to  affect  Him. 

She  began  mumbling  an  oath  every  time  her 
father  found  a  new  form  for  his  praise. 

It  was  otherwise  with  Egholm  himself.  He  felt 
stronger  and  stronger  as  he  went  on  ;  and  at  sight  of 
Hedvig's  lips  moving,  he  burst  into  tears,  and  found 
courage  to  speak  out  without  reserve. 

For  it  was  a  curious  fact  that  more  courage  was 
needed  to  ask  for  little  things.     It  was  a  simple  matter 


190  EGHOLM'AND  HIS  GOD 

enough  to  pray  for  wealth  and  happiness  in  general, 
but  to-day  he  managed  to  get  out  the  matter  that 
really  troubled  him. 

"  Dear,  good  Lord,  grant  me — or  only  lend  me — 
one  hundred  kroner ;  even  fifty  would  do.  You  know 
what  it's  for — that  boat,  the  green  boat  of  Ulrik's. 
Not  his  new  one,  but  the  old.  You  know,  dear  Lord, 
I  want  it  for  my  steam-turbine.  And  I've  come  to 
a  dead  stop  now,  and  can't  move  a  step  if  you  won't 
lend  me  a  miserable  fifty  kroner.  .  .  ." 

His  voice  had  altered  now  to  a  wheedling  tone, 
with  a  marked  city  accent.  He  made  a  sort  of  half 
scrape-and-bow,  and  finished  off. 

"  A — far  .  .  ."  prattled  Emanuel. 

It  was  Egholm's  habit  after  a  prayer  to  embrace 
his  wife.  He  made  as  if  to  do  so  now,  but,  to  his 
surprise,  she  thrust  him  away  with  every  indication 
of  ill-will. 

"  No  !  Don't  think  you're  going  to  get  me  on 
to  that  sort  of  thing,  because  I  won't." 

"  That  sort  of  thing!  "  Egholm's  voice  was  un- 
certain ;  he  had  a  feeling  that  his  wife  was,  after  all, 
somehow  in  relation  with  the  heavenly  powers. 

"  No  good  having  a  cow  that  yields  when  it  kicks 
over  the  bucket  after.  The  first  part  was  all  right, 
but  if  you  think  God's  going  to  help  with  your  silly 
tricks  about  that  turbine  thing — why,  you're  very 
much  mistaken." 

"  But,  why  not  ?  .  .  ." 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  191 

"  Because  it's  an  abomination.  Cain  was  the 
first  smith,  and  you  know  it.  And  the  Lord  hates 
all  that  hammering  and  smithying  about  at  turbines 
and  steam  carts  and  friction  cylinders.  .  .  ." 

"  Friction  couplings,"  corrected  Egholm  gently. 

"  Well,  I  don't  care  what  you  call  them.  He 
hates  all  that  sort  of  stufF,  whatever  name  you  give  it. 
And  you  can  be  certain  sure  you'll  get  nothing  out 
of  that  prayer,"  she  concluded,  with  a  lofty  shake  of 
her  head. 

Egholm  sat  down  in  silence,  and  Hedvig,  seeing 
that  he  was  overcome  by  some  incomprehensible 
means,  hurried  off  in  relief. 

What  had  come  to  Egholm  now  ?  Was  he 
impressed  by  his  wife's  wisdom  ?  Oh,  he  thought 
her  foolish  beyond  words. 

But  she  had  destroyed  his  exaltation  as  effectively 
as  a  knife  thrust  into  a  balloon. 

His  head  dropped  on  his  breast. 

Yes,  it  was  true  enough,  no  doubt,  that  God  was 
against  him  in  all  his  plans  and  inventions.  His 
prayer  had  been  in  vain,  despite  the  brilliant  idea  of 
bringing  along  Hedvig  as  a  sacrifice. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  I  ought  to  do  ?  "  he 
asked  weakly. 

"  Me  !  And  how's  a  simple  creature  like  me  to 
say  what  you  should  do  ?     You're  so  clever.  .  .  ." 

He  fancied  there  was  something  behind  her  words, 
and  grasped  at  it  eagerly. 


192  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

"  What  d'you  mean  ?  " 

Fru  Egholm  kept  up  her  pretence  of  emptiness 
for  some  time,  but  her  speech  was  crafty  as  a  will-o'- 
the-wisp,  and  he  followed  her  till  he  lost  his  foothold. 
Then  she  said  : 

"  Write  to  the  Brethren,  and  ask  for  your  money 
back." 

Egholm  looked  up  with  a  momentary  gleam  of 
light,  but  pursed  up  his  mouth  in  a  grimace,  and 
said  : 

"  The  Brethren — no.  I've  done  with  them  for 
good  and  all." 

"  All  right,  then,  just  as  you  please,"  said  she. 
And  no  more  was  said. 

Towards  evening,  Egholm  took  his  stick,  and  went 
for  a  walk  through  the  town  and  down  along  the 
quay. 

The  black  gliding  waters  of  the  Belt  slapped 
softly  against  the  stonework,  and  patted  like  flat 
hands  under  the  tarred  beams.  He  went  right  out 
to  the  point,  where  some  boys  were  fishing  with  lines, 
and  calling  to  one  another  in  their  singing  dialect, 
as  often  as  they  fancied  a  bite. 

A  big  Norwegian  timber  ship  with  a  heavy  deck- 
load  lay  in  the  harbour,  and  all  the  fishing-boats  of 
Knarreby  were  gathered  along  the  side  of  the  quay. 

The  background  was  dominated  by  the  church, 
the  Custom  Elouse,  and  Vang's  hotel.  To  the  west, 
little  fisher  huts  set  all  up  a  steep  slope,  that  rose 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  193 

farther  on  to  the  great  beeches  of  Kongeskoven. 
Knarreby  itself  was  on  an  elevation;  the  ground  line 
of  St.  Nicholas  Church  was  level  with  the  roof  of 
the  Custom  House.  From  where  he  stood,  Egholm 
could  see  two  gravestones  showing  white  in  the 
churchyard. 

Loud  voices  could  be  heard  from  the  terrace  of 
Vang's  hotel  ;  three  gentlemen  had  just  come  out, 
and  were  sniffing  and  wiping  their  foreheads  with 
handkerchiefs.  Evidently,  they  had  been  dining. 
Somebody  gave  an  order  to  a  waiter,  with  a  heavy 
slap  on  the  back.  There  was  a  certain  noisiness 
apparent. 

Egholm  pricked  up  his  ears — that  was  Rothe's 
voice  and  no  other. 

Ah — and  now  he  recognised  the  other  two  :  the 
warlike  editor  and  Vang  with  a  silk  skull-cap. 

Here  were  three  men  who,  he  felt  sure,  never 
bowed  the  knee  to  God.  And  yet  they  seemed  to 
enjoy  themselves. 

How  could  it  be  ? 

That  fellow  Rothe,  for  instance,  the  ironfounder. 
He  was  said  to  have  started  at  the  lowest  rung,  as 
a  blacksmith's  hand,  eighteen  years  ago.  Now,  he 
owned  the  whole  of  Knarreby  ironfoundry. 

A  turbine  boat  would  be  a  mere  nothing  to  a 
man  like  that. 

Egholm  sat  on  the  quay  for  a  while,  following 
the  three  with  envious  eyes  ;  then  he  strolled  in 
13 


194  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

towards  the  land  with  the  ferrule  of  his  stick  dragging 
listlessly  over  the  stones. 

There  was  the  usual  crowd  of  fishermen  gathered 
about  the  warehouse.  They  were  always  to  be  found 
there  or  over  by  the  agent's  house.  The  walls  of 
both  were  worn  smooth  by  the  backs  of  their 
trousers. 

"  Going  to  have  thunder  ?  "  asked  Egholm,  with 
a  swinging  gesture  which  he  fancied  smacked  of  the 
sea. 

They  puffed  at  their  pipes,  and  squinted  in  towards 
the  centre,  where  Peder  Kvabs  stood.  He  was  the 
fattest  and  reddest-faced  of  them  all,  and  went  about 
in  his  shirt-sleeves  all  the  year  round.  When  he  said 
nothing,  then  there  was  nothing  to  be  said. 

Well,  after  all,  no  need  for  any  introduction, 
thought  Egholm,  and  came  to  the  matter  of  his 
turbine  at  once.  Funny  thing,  when  you  came  to 
think  of  it,  that  in  four  or  five  years  from  now  every 
little  rowing-boat  would  have  its  turbine,  and  go 
spurting  across  the  Belt  like  a  cat,  dead  against  the 
wind. 

"  If  only  it  don't  turn  out  one  of  them  infernal 
machines  like  they  use  for  the  Czar,"  said  Peder 
Kvabs,  spitting  between  his  teeth.  The  others  were 
roused  at  his  words  to  some  considerable  emotion. 
They  rubbed  themselves  against  the  wooden  wall, 
spat,  and  worked  their  eyebrows  up  and  down.  One 
of  them  made  strange  sounds. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  195 

"  Ah,  well,"  said  Egholm,  discomfited,  "  you  wait 
and  see." 

He  walked  a  few  paces,  swinging  his  stick,  then 
turned  and  called  back  to  them  : 

"  You  wait  and  see  when  it  comes  !  I'm  getting 
the  money  now — three  or  four  hundred  kroner. 
From  Odense.  It's  money  I  was  done  out  of  under 
false  pretences.  And  I'm  going  to  have  the  law  of 
them.  .  .  ." 

The  woollen  jerseys  seemed  to  betray  a  seething 
and  bubbling  within.  The  men  could  contain  them- 
selves no  longer.  Suddenly  Peder  Kvabs  hoisted 
his  slacks,  and  led  the  whole  flock  hastily  into  the 
nearest  cafe.  There  was  no  need  to  ask  should  they 
go  ;  all  felt  it  was  a  simple  necessity. 

*'  Yes,"  said  Egholm  to  himself.  "  That's  what 
I'll  do.  They  couldn't  give  it  against  me  if  I  went 
to  law." 

But  he  felt  sorely  in  need  of  someone  who  would 
have  faith  in  him,  and  he  longed  for  Henrik  Vang's 
ever-ready  admiration.  Might  just  slip  up  to  his 
room.  .  .  . 

Fru  Vang  kept  a  quiet  little  boarding-house  for 
a  few  old  bachelors  who  had  taken  the  best  rooms 
of  the  house.  She  and  Vang  himself  occupied  separate 
attics. 

Vang  was  in  bed,  with  half  an  inch  of  reddish 
stubble  on  his  chin,  and  the  hair  on  his  forehead 
clammy  with  feverish  sweat. 


196  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

"  Why,  what's  this  ?  "  cried  Egholm,  aghast. 
"  Are  you  ill  ?  And  I'd  never  heard  a  word.  .  .  . 
A  great  strong  fellow  like  you  !  What's  the 
matter  ?  " 

"  Sit  down  a  minute,"  said  Vang  faintly.  "  We 
can  shift  this  here.  Or  give  it  to  Diana  .  .  .  there 
you  are." 

He  set  a  plate  down  on  the  floor,  and  wiped  the 
seat  of  a  chair  with  his  bare  arm. 

"  I've  worked  it  out,"  said  Egholm,  without 
preface.  "  The  boiler  must  be  vertical.  With  the 
first  experimental  boat,  of  course,  it's  more  than 
ever  important  to  save  space.  Can't  make  out  why 
I  didn't  hit  on  that  before." 

There  were  half  a  score  of  other  things  he  had 
"  worked  out."  Vang  listened  attentively,  wrinkling 
up  his  forehead  and  gazing  ccilingwards,  as  if  some- 
thing were  passing  far  above  his  head. 

Egholm  felt  comfortable  now,  and  in  a  burst  of 
geniality  exclaimed  : 

"  Here,  Vang,  you'd  better  let  me  have  a  look  at 
you.  I'm  something  of  a  doctor — natural  healer, 
you  know.  I  was  patching  up  Madam  Hermansen's 
leg  the  other  day.  Have  you  seen  a  doctor  at  all  ? 
What  did  he  say  ?  " 

"  No,  I  haven't,"  said  Vang,  looking  away. 

"  All  the  better  ;  nothing  to  distract  my  in- 
stinctive powers.     Where's  the  pain  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  know  all  the  time,"  said  Vang  piteously. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  197 

laying  one  hand  on  Egholm's  arm.  "  Don't  go  teasing 
me  now,  there's  a  good  fellow." 

Egholm  rose  to  his  feet  in  surprise  ;  his  imagina- 
tion was  weaving  intricate  tangles  in  a  moment. 

"  Is  it— is  it  .  .  .  No,  I've  no  idea — really,  I 
haven't." 

Vang  pouted  like  a  boy,  and  after  a  little  hesita- 
tion explained  that  his  wife  had  a  habit  now  and 
again — more  and  more  frequently  of  late— of  taking 
away  his  trousers.  He  had  been  lying  here  now  for 
four  days,  with  no  trousers  to  put  on. 

"  Oh,  don't  sit  there  grinning  just  like  all  the 
rest  of  them  !  " 

"  I'm  not,  indeed.  So  she  takes  away  your 
trousers  ?  First-rate  idea,  you  know,  really.  She's 
one  of  my  sort.  But,  look  here,  you  know,  we  must 
be  able  to  borrow  a  pair  from  somewhere.  I've 
only  these  myself,  more's  the  pity.  But  we  might 
take  it  in  turns.  .  .  ." 

"  There's  only  one  man  in  the  place  whose  trousers 
fit  me.  And  he  won't.  Oh,  the  beast !  I  sent 
down  to  ask  him.  He  knows  very  well  what's  the 
trouble.     It's  Rothe." 

There  was  a  sound  of  short,  rapid  steps  outside. 
Vang  listened,  waved  one  arm  as  it  with  a  baton  to 
bid  the  orchestra  cease,  and  fell  back,  looking  very 
ill  indeed.  There  was  a  knock,  and  Fru  Vang 
entered.  She  was  a  dark,  thin,  sour-looking  woman 
with  pale  cheeks  and  a  burnt  fringe. 


198  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

Vang  sat  up  hastily  and  made  the  introduction 
with  an  ease  of  manner  acquired  from  habitual 
attendance  at  ballrooms,  then  lay  back  and  resumed 
his  invalid  air. 

"  I've  sewed  that  button  on,"  said  Fru  Vang, 
laying  something  on  the  bed.  "  Don't  you  think 
you  might  try  to  get  up  now  ?  " 

She  tripped  back  and  forth  about  her  husband's 
bed,  settled  his  pillows,  and  pulled  the  sheet  straight. 
Her  skirts  were  shorter  than  was  usual,  and  her  patent 
shoes  had  pointed  toes  and  very  high  heels. 

The  legs  were  undoubtedly  the  legs  of  a  waitress, 
but  the  rest  of  her  was  unimpeachable.  Save, 
perhaps,  for  the  fringe.  .  .  .  Yes,  the  legs  and  the 
fringe.  .  .  . 

Egholm  left  the  pair  to  themselves  and  hurried 
home.  He  had  gained  something  at  least,  in  that 
his  gloomy  thoughts  were  dispersed  for  the  time 
being.  Again  and  again  he  stopped,  shook  his 
head,  and  snorted  with  laughter,  at  the  recollection 
of  huge  Vang's  helpless  expression. 

After  all,  there  was  no  sense  in  taking  things  too 
seriously.  Most  of  life  was  only  fooling  at  the  best. 
He  would  write  to  the  Brethren,  yes ;  but  he  would 
not  be  a  fool  and  insist  on  his  rights ;  much  better 
to  go  warily,  and  beg  their  assistance  in  his  extremity. 
It  was  one  of  the  rules  of  the  community  to  help  any 
brother  in  distress. 

Fru  Egholm  had  the  pleasure  of  her  husband's 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  199 

company  till  late  that  night.  She  looked  to  her  work, 
and  he  sat  there  as  in  the  old  days,  busy  with  pen  and 
ink  and  quantities  of  paper.  But  he  was  not  angry 
now;  he  hummed  and  chuckled  in  a  self-satisfied  way. 
At  one  o'clock  he  began  to  read  his  petition  aloud. 

The  letter  ought  to  be  sent  off  at  once,  where- 
fore he  started  off  himself  to  the  railway  station, 
and  Fru  Egholm  was  for  once  the  first  to  retire.  She 
was  asleep  when  he  returned,  but  woke  shortly  after, 
and  was  puzzled  a  good  deal  by  a  curious  sniffling 
sound  that  seemed  to  come  from  his  pillow.  Then 
the  bed  shook,  and  all  at  once  she  realised  that  he 
was  laughing  ! 

Ah,  well,  those  who  laugh  at  night  may  come  to 
weep  by  day,  she  thought  to  herself,  with  some 
irritation. 

Egholm  gabbled  away  for  some  time  about  the 
turbine,  about  his  letter  to  the  Brethren,  and  about 
Vang,  the  trouserless,  and  his  wife. 

His  wife.  .  .  .  Ah,  she  was  a  devil !  A  cold  air 
seemed  to  breathe  from  her — though  she  might  well 
have  exhaled  overmuch  warmth  in  earlier  days. 
He  remembered  her  mechanical  smile  and  her  soft, 
gentle  ministrations  about  her  husband's  bedside. 
False,  false  from  top  to  toe. 

One  might  almost  be  tempted  to  say  that  there 
was  but  one  thing  genuine  about  her — her  false 
teeth  !  Egholm  ducked  down  in  bed  again  at  the 
thought,  his  lips  opening  and  closing  stickily. 


XVI 

THE     Egholms     managed     to    drag     on     into 
December  without  using  their  stove. 
Fru    Eghohii    pointed    to    the    trees    in 
Andreasen's  garden,  showing  how  the  leaves  broke 
away  in  the  frost,  and  slid  drowning  one  by  one  down 
through  the  air,  like  naked  yellowish  bodies. 

''  Well,  and  what  then  ?  "  asked  her  husband 
uncomprehendingly. 

"  Why,  then — it's  winter,  and  time  to  be  getting 
in  fuel,  unless  you  want  to  perish  with  cold." 

"  Why,  as  for  that,  "  said  Egholm,  leaning  over 
the  kitchen  table  to  get  a  better  view,  "  there's  one 
tree  there  that's  as  green  as  ever.     Look." 

"  Green  as  ever  it  may  be,"  said  his  wife,  "  seeing 
it's  an  evergreen.     That's  holly." 

"  Holly's  a  sacred  tree,"  said  Egholm,  "  and  we 
should  take  it  as  a  model."  It  was  not  meant  in  jest. 
He  really  endeavoured  to  school  himself  to  endur- 
ance. He  left  one  button  of  his  coat  undone,  and 
made  long  speeches  about  the  unwarrantable  luxury 
of  having  a  fire  in  the  stove.  When  you  went  about 
wrapped  up  in  clothes,  and  even  lived  in  a  house, 
why  .  .  . 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  201 

Fru  Egholm  sighed.  She  made  herself  and 
Emanuel  into  bundles  of  clothes,  and  hoped  for  the 
best. 

At  first  It  really  seemed  as  if  Egholm  had  con- 
quered the  ancient  prejudice  in  favour  of  warmth. 
He  talked  about  pawning  his  overcoat,  and  went 
about  rejoicing  at  his  excellent  health.  He  ex- 
pected to  feel  even  better  as  it  grew  colder,  he 
said. 

But  cold  was  a  strangely  elusive  enemy  to  fight 
against.  Out  in  the  open,  in  a  gale  of  wind,  where 
one  might  expect  to  find  it  at  its  worst,  he  could 
defeat  it  easily,  and  come  home  flushed  and  warm. 
Then,  before  he  knew  it,  it  had  crushed  and  left 
him  exhausted  in  his  own  comparatively  sheltered 
room.  His  wrists  grew  thinner,  and  his  fingers 
curled  like  the  fingers  of  a  corpse. 

One  evening  he  gave  in  completely.  Now  he 
would  have  a  fire,  and  that  at  once.  And  since  there 
was  nothing  else  in  the  place  to  burn,  he  cut  up  his 
wife's  chopping-boards,  tore  out  the  stuffing  from  an 
old  straw  mattress,  and  trampled  Hedvig's  doll's  house 
flat.  Fru  Egholm  made  piteous  protest,  but  Hedvig 
simply  looked  on  with  a  curious  smile.  Next  day 
Egholm  himself  was  most  eager  to  obtain  credit  at 
the  coal  merchant's. 

This,  then,  was  the  state  of  things  in  the  house. 
They  had  no  money,  and  very  little  credit  ;  both 
difficult  things  to  do  without. 


202  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

People  seemed  to  have  forgotten  there  was  such 
a  thing  as  having  their  photograph  taken. 

The  Egholms  felt  it  in  various  ways  :  food  and 
clothing,  for  instance.  Hedvig  could  manage  all  right 
as  to  food.  She  was  always  eating  at  the  baker's, 
and  cakes  dropped  out  of  her  clothes  when  she  un- 
dressed at  night ;  she  brought  them  home  for 
Emanuel.  But  even  her  existence  was  touched 
with  the  ugly  grey  brush  of  poverty.  Her  boots 
were  a  marvel;  every  schoolgirl  in  the  town  knew 
Hedvig's  boots.  They  had  an  extraordinary  number 
of  buttons  up  the  side,  with  springs,  and  a  sort  of 
ventilation.  They  must  have  cost  a  great  deal  at 
one  time.  There  were  no  soles  to  them  now,  but 
that  did  not  matter,  said  her  father — you  don't 
walk  with  your  feet  in  the  air  !  Hedvig  admitted 
there  was  something  in  that,  and  comforted  herself 
further  with  the  thought  that  no  one  could  see  what 
her  under  things  were  like. 

There  was  little  gaiety  about  the  Egholms' 
life. 

And  yet  there  was  one  little  being  whose  only 
longing  day  and  night  was  to  share  their  lot  in  every 
way.     This  was  Sivert  in  his  smithy. 

The  day  his  mother  had  got  into  the  train  and 
glided  out  into  the  morning  mist,  his  organ  of 
equilibrium  had  suffered  a  shock.  One  day  he 
would  fall,  and  fall,  moreover,  in  the  direction  of 
Knarrcby. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  203 

He  had  always  been  keenly  attached  to  his  mother, 
and,  now  that  she  was  gone,  his  longing  conjured  up 
her  picture  into  this  or  that  piece  of  bright  metal 
he  held,  or  he  would  hear  her  voice  in  the  blowing 
of  the  bellows.  Then  he  would  laugh  and  talk  out 
loud,  or  stand  up  and  swing  his  arms  in  a  joyful 
embrace  towards  his  beloved  mother. 

Whereupon  his  master  would  immediately  land 
out  at  him  from  one  side,  and  Olsen  from  the  other, 
which  was  perhaps  the  reason  why  he  retained  the 
same  degree  of  crookedness. 

His  mother  had  given  him  to  understand  that 
there  would  be  occasional  visits  ;  either  he  should 
come  to  Knarreby,  or  she  would  come  to  him  there, 
but  there  came  nothing  more  than  a  letter  once  a 
month,  and  even  these  grew  shorter  and  shorter. 
At  last  they  contained  hardly  more  than  the  advice 
to  be  a  good  boy  and  do  what  he  was  told,  and  not 
to  forget  his  prayers. 

Sivert  read  them  with  quivering  mouth,  and 
nodded  ;   he  would  do  as  she  said. 

Then,  further,  the  letter  reported  that  they  were 
all  well  at  home.  Sivert  nodded  at  this  likewise. 
But  when  he  came  to  read  the  signature,  "  Your  own 
loving  mother,"  the  tears  began  to  trickle  down, 
and,  a  moment  after,  he  was  sobbing  all  over. 

Each  day  was  for  the  boy  a  ladder  of  a  hundred 
toilsome  steps,  and  the  ladder  led  to  nights  spent 
with  Olsen.      It  was  getting  on  towards  Christmas. 


204  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

Sivert  realised  it  one  day,  as  he  came  trotting  along 
through  the  street  with  a  load  of  iron  rods. 

In  one  of  the  shop  windows  stood  a  Christmas 
tree  decked  out  with  little  baskets  and  paper  horns 
and  cottonwool  on  all  the  branches.  There  was  a 
crowd  of  children  in  front  of  the  window.  Sivert 
made  a  sharp  turn  about,  and  stood  there  lost  in 
admiration.  Ho  !  That  was  a  Christmas  tree  ! 
He  knew  it  ! 

He  was  not  suffered  to  stand  there  very  long,  for 
his  iron  rods  barred  the  whole  footway.  But  for 
the  rest  of  his  journey  back,  he  talked  out  loud  to 
himself  of  the  wonderful  vision. 

It  was  a  Christmas  tree.  Then  Christmas  must 
be  coming.  It  was  put  in  the  window  as  a  sign 
that  Christmas  would  soon  be  here. 

Already  there  was  a  taste  of  sweets  in  his  mouth, 
just  as  he  remembered  once  before.  .  .  . 

Then  suddenly  his  mother's  letters,  that  he  knew 
by  heart,  began  talking  too. 

"  All  well  at  home  !  " 

At  home — yes,  at  home  .  .  .  with  Mother,  they 
were  all  well. 

An  indomitable  craving,  and  a  resolution,  ripened 
within  him. 

His  craving  was  that  he,  too,  would  share  in 
that  "  all  well  "  at  home.  As  to  the  resolution,  he 
clenched  his  teeth  upon  it  for  the  present,  and  his 
eyes  stared  fixedly.     In  the  evening,  when  he  had 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  205 

seen  Olsen  go  out,  he  stood  with  shaking  hands  up 
in  their  room,  and  collected  his  belongings.  Yes, 
this  was  what  he  was  going  to  do.  He  was  going 
home.  And  never  come  back  any  more.  So  he 
must  be  careful  not  to  forget  a  single  thing. 

There  were  his  pictures  all  cut  out,  his  letters 
and — under  the  mattress — that  indispensable  tie-pin 
given  him  by  the  Eriksens  at  his  confirmation ;  he  would 
find  some  use  for  it,  no  doubt,  when  he  was  older. 

And  that  was  all.  But  still  he  wandered  about 
the  room,  looking  into  every  corner. 

In  the  washstand  drawer  was  Olsen's  registration 
book — fancy  Olsen's  leaving  it  there  !  Suppose  a 
thief  .  .  . 

In  a  moment  of  confusion,  Sivert's  hand  dipped 
into  the  drawer,  closed  all  five  fingers  on  the  book, 
and  thrust  it  under  his  blouse,  close  against  his 
trembling  heart. 

Then,  overcome  by  dizziness,  he  stole  on  all 
fours  down  the  stairs. 

The  shop  windows  were  ablaze,  and  the  streets 
full  of  people.  It  was  all  like  some  great  festival, 
thought  Sivert,  as  he  trotted  along  in  the  gutter. 

Suddenly  it  struck  him  that  he  might  encounter 
Olsen. 

Wasn't  that  Olsen  coming  round  the  corner 
there  ?  Sivert  did  not  stay  to  make  closer  investiga- 
tion, but  raced  off  down  the  first  turning.  And 
there — Heaven    preserve   him  !— was  Olsen  himself, 


2o6  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

coming  out  of  a  tavern  not  ten  paces  away.  It  was 
Olsen  this  time.  Leaning  up  against  the  railing  just 
as  Olsen  always  did.  Sivert  turned  round  and  fled, 
as  if  the  lightnings  of  retribution  were  at  his  heels, 
dodging  in  a  zigzag  through  a  maze  of  intercrossing 
streets. 

He  came  into  quarters  of  the  town  where  he  had 
never  been  before,  and  met  four  more  Olsens  on 
his  way.  Once  with  a  girl  on  his  arm,  once  in  the 
very  gateway  where  he  was  hiding  in  fear  of — yes, 
of  that  same  Olsen. 

At  last  he  found  the  road  he  sought — the  road 
to  Knarreby.  The  distance  between  the  houses  in- 
creased, and  the  gale  rose  to  a  hurricane.  It  was 
full  in  his  face  now,  and  beating  against  his  cheeks 
with  a  torrent  of  sand  and  stones,  but  he  bent  for- 
ward and  drew  his  cap  down  over  his  eyes,  sighting 
at  the  next  lamp-post  through  the  split  between 
the  peak  and  the  cloth  top,  and  keeping  his  hands 
behind  his  back. 

Yes,  he  would  manage  it  now  ! 

Then  suddenly  there  were  no  more  lamp-posts 
to  go  by.  The  last  one  shed  its  gleam  a  few  yards 
round,  a  solitary  figure  of  a  lamp,  the  extreme  out- 
post, rattling  its  glass  with  a  noise  as  of  chattering 
teeth  in  the  cold,  and  its  flame  hopping  from  the 
wick  at  every  gust.  Sivert  set  his  back  against  it — 
he  dared  not  give  himself  up  entirely  to  the  gaping 
jaws  of  the  black  dark  ahead. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  207 

He  knew  the  place  well,  by  the  way;  he  had  stood 
here  many  a  Sunday  afternoon,  staring  out  towards 
Knarreby.  The  tears  welled  up  chokingly  within 
him  now. 

A  little  later,  there  came  a  man  with  a  pole. 
He  growled  out  something  or  other,  but  Sivert  drew 
away  shyly  out  of  the  ring  of  light. 

Well,  well,  the  man  put  out  the  lamp,  and  turned 
in  towards  the  town  again,  leaving  darkness  behind 
him  as  he  went. 

Sivert  stole  on  behind  him,  sobbing.  The 
putting  out  of  the  lamps  entered  into  his  conscious- 
ness as  a  picture  of  his  own  desolation. 

Late  that  night  he  squeezed  himself  up  in  the 
doorway  of  the  old  home  in  Nedergade,  where  he  had 
not  been  since  his  mother  left. 

The  gloomy  place  had  something  of  homeliness 
about  it ;  almost  instinctively  he  stole  in  through 
the  door  to  the  washing  cellar.  There  were  tubs 
lying  about,  full  of  washing  left  to  soak. 

He  stumbled  in  amongst  them,  and  took  a  drink 
of  water  from  the  tap,  not  so  much  from  thirst,  but 
more  from  a  fancy  to  use  his  familiar  knowledge  of 
the  place.  Then  he  recollected  that  it  made  a 
buzzing  sound  in  the  tenements  upstairs  when  that 
tap  was  turned  on,  and  he  hurried  away  to  the  passage 
between  the  coal  cellars.  Egholms'  cellar  used  to  be 
the  fifth.  Could  he  manage  now  to  tear  open  the 
padlock  with  a  smart  twist  ?     Wonderful — it  was  as 


2o8  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

easy  as  ever  !  That  showed  that  God  was  with  him 
after  all.  Full  of  thankfulness,  Sivert  slipped  into  the 
narrow  space,  and  tried  to  concentrate  his  mind  on 
the  Lord's  Prayer,  but  fell  asleep  despite  his  efforts, 
and  did  not  wake  until  the  pale  light  of  morning 
came  filtering  in  to  him  through  the  cobwebbed 
windows.  His  back  was  like  a  boil  from  the  knobs 
and  points  of  the  firewood  he  had  been  lying  on. 

Out  in  the  washing  cellars  someone  was  rattling 
tubs  and  buckets,  and  the  water  was  running. 

Sivert  pressed  himself  closer  up  in  a  corner.  He 
stood  there  a  long  time,  till  his  sense  was  dulled. 
There  was  a  bottle  in  the  window,  that  looked  as  if  it 
had  been  used  for  oil.  A  cork  was  stuck  half-way 
down  the  neck.  And  from  among  the  broken  lumps 
of  peat  and  turf  on  the  floor  a  lump  of  old  iron  pipe 
was  sticking  out. 

Sivert  looked  at  the  two  things — first  one,  then 
the  other,  a  hundred  times.  Bottle — iron  pipe — 
iron  pipe — bottle.  He  thrust  out  his  wooden  shoe 
and  kicked  at  the  pipe  to  make  a  change.  There  was 
a  brass  tap  on  it.  It  emerged  from  the  litter  on  the 
floor  like  a  revelation. 

"  Father's  big  tap,"  he  burst  out  in  wondering 
recognition.  They  must  have  forgotten  it.  No, 
not  forgotten  ;  it  had  been  left  here  for  him  to 
take  with  him. 

Half  an  hour  later  he  was  clattering  along  at  a 
sharp  trot  out  of  the  town,  with  the  tap  under  his  coat. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  209 

The  poplars  stood  in  two  endless  rows  with  their 
leafless  branches  pointing  stiffly  heavenwards.  Only 
one  thing  to  do  now — get  along  as  fast  as  he  could. 
His  heart  might  hop  and  thump  as  it  pleased,  like  a 
dry  nut  in  its  shell ;  he  had  no  use  for  that  now — 
only  for  his  legs. 

Villages  showed  up  ahead  of  him  and  faded  away 
behind,  all  nothing  to  do  with  him.  It  did  not  enter 
his  head  to  ask  for  food  anywhere,  or  even  to  rest. 
Only  go  on,  on,  along  the  road,  past  ditches  where 
the  snow  lay  streaked  with  wind-borne  dust,  and 
tufts  of  withered  grass  above  ;  past  flattened  heaps 
of  road-metal  that  lay  like  so  many  nameless  graves. 
Trotting  or  dragging  his  feet,  he  went  on  past  buzz- 
ing telegraph  poles,  passing  or  following  heavy- 
laden  milk-carts  or  solitary  peasants  with  kerchiefs 
bound  over  their  ears  as  a  protection  from  the  biting 
cold. 

He  spoke  to  no  one  until  evening  was  drawing  on  ; 
then,  an  old  woman  told  him  there  was  but  another 
mile  to  Knarreby. 

This  came  to  him  as  something  of  a  shock  ;  he 
felt  there  ought  to  be,  say,  four  or  six  miles  more 
yet. 

He  slackened  his  pace,  and  at  the  same  time  his 
mind  began  working  again. 

All  the  way  till  now,  through  those  twenty-four 
icy  miles,  he  had  had  a  feeling  that  he  was  running 
straight  into  his  mother's  welcoming  arms.  Now 
14 


2IO  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

the  picture  changed  incomprehensibly.  Her  open 
arms  were  turned  to  clenched  fists,  and  her  gentle 
eyes  gave  place  to  his  father's  glaring  fiery  orbs. 
After  all,  perhaps  it  was  not  so  simple  a  matter  to  run 
away  from  one's  place  and  go  home  ! 

Thrashings,  even  kicks,  he  knew,  but  how  should 
he  ever  be  able  to  bear  his  father's  thundering  voice 
when  he  was  angry  ?  Sivert  remembered  how  he 
had  once  himself  offered  his  father  a  brass  ladle  to 
beat  him  with,  just  to  get  it  over.  His  father  had 
taken  it — yes — and  there  were  dints  in  it  still.  Oh, 
his  father's  voice  was  the  most  terrible  thing  in  the 
world.  It  was  not  thick  like  Olsen's,  or  whinnying 
like  the  smith's,  but  a  sort  of  voice  that  made  one  feel 
stiff  all  over. 

By  the  time  he  reached  Knarreby  Mill  it  was 
pitch  dark.  The  high  invisible  sails  flung  rattling 
round  past  a  little  red  window  far  above.  A  little 
later,  and  the  town  itself  blinked  out  to  meet  him, 
but  it  was  some  time  before  he  managed,  with  the 
help  of  a  lad  of  his  own  age,  to  find  the  way  in  through 
Andreasen's  yard,  and  stood,  with  beating  heart, 
looking  in  at  the  light  behind  the  familiar  green 
curtains.  Someone  was  standing  outside  the  window, 
looking  in  from  one  side  where  the  curtain  was  folded. 
Someone  in  a  blue  blouse,  only  a  little  bigger  than 
Sivert  himself.  He  did  not  look  so  very  dangerous. 
.  .  .  When  Sivert  crept  nearer,  the  other  started,  as 
if  to  run  away,  but  judging  Sivert  to  be  equally  harm- 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  211 

less,  he  thought  better  of  it,  and  soon  the  two  had 
come  to  a  whispered  understanding. 

The  figure  in  the  blue  blouse  was  called  Marinus. 
Yes,  and  Sivert  could  stand  there  by  the  other 
window,  if  he  liked,  and  look  in,  if  he  kept  quite 
still. 

Inside,  was  Mother — yes,  his  mother — sitting  over 
her  work,  making  up  hair.  Her  practised  fingers 
took  up  the  piece,  plaited  it  into  the  three  strands, 
thrust  it  into  place,  and  then,  wetting  her  fingers, 
she  reached  for  another.  She  nodded  now  and  then 
as  she  worked.  And  the  lamp  was  reflected  upside 
down  in  her  spectacles. 

Sivert  began  snifiing  and  swallowing  something 
in  his  throat.  Then  he  tore  himself  away  from  that 
picture,  and  perceived  his  father  sitting  in  a  big 
arm-chair,  his  fingers  twined  into  his  beard,  reading 
the  Bible.  Now  he  turned  a  page  ;  now  he  lifted 
his  eyes  from  the  book  and  fixed  something  or  other 
in  space,  nailing  it,  as  it  were,  to  the  ceiling  with  his 
glance. 

On  the  settee  in  the  room  behind,  the  light  from 
the  lamp  shone  on  Emanuel's  fair  round  head,  and 
by  the  door  sat  Hedvig,  undressed,  combing  her 
hair.  She  had  drawn  one  leg  up  under  her,  and 
leaned  back  dreamily.  A  feeling  of  envy  stole  over 
Sivert  at  sight  of  those  legs,  so  thick  and  overfed 
they  seemed,  both  here  and  there.  And  both  legs, 
too — oh,  it  was  not  fair. 


212  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

Truly,  all  well  at  home. 

His  father  was  speaking.  Hedvig  answered,  but 
with  lips  tight  and  straight  as  a  line,  though  her 
nose  moved. 

"  Won't  ? "  cried  her  father.  ''  You  disobedient 
little  devil  !     To  bed  with  you  this  instant  !  " 

He  slapped  down  the  Bible  on  the  table  and 
shook  his  hand  in  the  air. 

"  That's  Father's  voice ;  I  know  it.  I  know  it's 
the  right  one,"  muttered  Sivert.  His  legs  carried 
him  staggering  out  through  the  gateway  again,  and 
Marinus  turned  and  watched  him  as  he  went. 

After  much  aimless  wandering,  Sivert  found 
his  way  at  last  into  the  waiting-room  of  the  rail- 
way station.  It  was  naturally  his  last  resource, 
being  the  only  place  that  showed  a  light  still 
burning. 

His  wooden  shoes  echoed  in  the  empty  room,  but 
no  one  came  to  turn  him  out.  He  slept  close  to  a 
lovely  warm  stove,  and  heard  trains  rushing  past, 
doors  opening  and  slamming  through  his  sleep  ;  not 
till  next  morning  did  anyone  disturb  him,  and  then 
it  was  an  old  peasant  who  slipped  the  boy's  feet 
down  to  make  room  for  himself  on  the  bench.  There 
were  a  number  of  other  people  about. 

One  or  two  men  in  heavy  travelling  cloaks  walked 
up  and  down,  rubbing  their  hands  for  warmth.  A 
waitress  with  beautiful  frills  at  her  throat  had  ap- 
peared ;  she  took  down  the  shutters  from  the  buffet 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  213 

and  set  out  dishes  of  refreshments.  A  little  later 
came  the  popping  of  corks. 

Vehicles  rolled  up  outside  ;  and  drivers  with 
silver-tasseled  hats  came  in  and  hung  over  the  bar. 
They  talked  with  noisy  humour  of  the  waitress,  who, 
they  declared,  looked  as  if  she  had  not  slept  well 
that  night.  The  lady  in  question,  however,  merely 
raised  her  eyebrows  to  show  that  she  had  not  even 
heard  what  they  said.  Now  and  again  she  scratched 
her  hair  with  the  least  little  touch  of  one  fourth 
finger.  Sivert  understood  this  as  evidence  that  so 
elegant  a  being  had  little  need  to  scratch  at  all. 

Altogether,  it  was  a  morning  rich  in  experience 
for  Sivert.  When  the  trains  and  the  passengers  had 
gone,  the  head-scratching  waitress  sat  down  to 
further  cups  of  coffee.  Sivert  shitted  a  little  closer, 
and  saw  how  deliciously  ready  to  hand  were  the 
dishes  of  smorrebred,^  whereat  his  mouth  watered 
quite  literally,  down  his  blouse. 

"  Are  you  going  by  train  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Sivert,  dismayed  at  being  noticed. 
Doubtless  he  would  be  turned  out  at  once. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  then  ?  "  said  the  waitress 
after  a  pause.  She  was  taking  her  hair  down,  and 
undoing  the  plaits. 

What  was  he  doing  ?     Heaven  only  knew ! 

"  Taking  home  the  big  tap.  For  Father,"  he 
stammered. 

*  Slices  of  bread  and  butter^  with  meat^  cheese,  etc.,  laid  over. 


214  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

The  lady  laughed — it  sounded  like  a  scream.  A 
moment  after  she  was  serious  again,  but  anyhow,  she 
had  laughed.  She  was  sitting  now,  bending  forward, 
combing  her  back  hair  upward  and  forward  in  little 
jerks,  and  observing  the  effect  in  a  little  round 
mirror  with  an  advertisement  on  the  back.  She 
laughed,  though  it  evidently  hurt  badly  when  the 
comb  stuck. 

A  lovely  creature,  was  that  waitress. 

"  And  who's  your  father  ?  " 

"  Egholm.  I  saw  him  eat  one  of  those  once. 
Just  like  that."  Sivert  nodded  sideways  towards 
the  dish. 

"  One  of  what  ?  " 

"  One  of  those  !  "  said  Sivert,  springing  up  to 
the  counter  and  pointing  to  a  piece  with  slices  of 
sausage.     "  This  one's  bigger,  though,  I'm  sure." 

Sivert  could  not  say  more  ;  he  stammered  and 
hiccupcd  in  a  delirium  of  hunger. 

The  waitress  was  combing  back  again  now,  till 
the  comb  fairly  crackled  ;  she  spread  out  her  chest 
mightily,  and  shook  her  mane  of  hair. 

"  You  can  have  that  piece,  if  you  like,"  she 
said,  with  her  mouth  full  of  hairpins.  And  added 
mysteriously  :   "  Serve  her  right,  too." 

Three  further  pieces  were  granted  Sivert  on 
the  same  grounds,  of  serving  somebody  right.  He 
laughed  and  cried  and  stuffed  his  mouth  all  at  the 
same  time. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  215 

"  You're  a  funny  sort  of  deaf-and-dumb  lad,  you 
are.     What's  your  name  ?  " 

"  Well,  I'm  mostly  Olsen,  really,"  said  Sivert, 
fumbling  at  the  place  where  the  precious  book  was 
hidden.  "  But  I'm  not  all  deaf  and  dumb.  Not 
quite.  .  .  ." 

"  Well,  I  said  you  were  half  a  lunatic." 

".  .  .  Or  I  couldn't  sing,  you  know." 

"  Let's  hear  you  sing."  The  barmaiden  sur- 
veyed her  work  of  art  in  its  entirety,  until  it  seemed 
as  if  her  eyes  would  turn  back  to  front  in  their 
sockets. 

"  Well,  I  can,  you  know  .  .  ."  said  Sivert  hesi- 
tatingly. 

The  barmaid  pointed  to  another  piece — cheese  it 
was  this  time — with  her  little  finger.  Sivert  pounced 
on  it  at  once. 

Then  he  wiped  his  mouth,  wrinkled  up  his  fore- 
head thoughtfully,  and  rattled  off  at  a  furious  rate  : 

"  The  pretty  bird  upon  the  tree  its  merry  notes  doth  sing  .  .  ." 

and  all  the  rest  of  that  verse.  It  sounded  like 
an  Eskimo  letting  off  a  single  word  of  a  hundred 
syllables  or  so. 

"  That  wasn't  singing,  not  yet ;  I  was  just  try- 
ing if  I  knew  all  the  words,"  explained  Sivert  apolo- 
getically, and  proceeded  to  repeat  the  words  "  with 
music." 

A  porter   and  one  or  two  others  came  up,  and 


2i6  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

grouped  themselves  in  an  attentive  half-circle  about 
the  singing  mannikin. 

Sivert  sang  all  the  smorrebrod  off  one  dish,  and 
then  went  out  with  the  porter  to  a  little  room  where 
they  cleaned  the  lamps,  and  here  he  talked  of  many- 
remarkable  things,  helping  to  clean  lamps  the  while. 
At  last  he  brought  out  his  brass  tap,  and  polished 
that  up  till  it  shone.  Then  suddenly  he  stole  off 
unobserved. 

Down  the  street  and  across  Andreasen's  yard, 
walking  awkwardly  and  shuffling  like  an  epileptic,  his 
mouth  running  over  all  the  time  with  prayers  and 
verses  of  hymns. 

In  the  little  entry  he  stood  still  and  laid  one 
ear  to  the  crack  of  the  door,  listening  breath- 
lessly. 

Yes,  there  was  Emanuel  prattling  away,  and  his 
mother  answering  with  a  few  low  words. 

Was  it  to  be  his  luck  to  find  them  alone  ?  He 
listened  again,  with  his  head  on  one  side,  and  heard 
now  another  sound — a  long-drawn,  sucking  sound, 
almost  like  a  snore,  and  then  the  rattle  of  a  cup, 
repeated  at  regular  intervals.  Ah  .  .  .  now  he 
knew  who  was  there  besides  ! 

Sivert  knelt  down  where  he  stood,  with  his  face 
against  the  door  and  his  hands  folded  piously.  He 
had  knelt  that  way  once  before,  when  he  had  hap- 
pened to  upset  a  lamp.  So,  too,  Knud,  the  Martyr- 
King,  had  knelt  waiting  for  death.     It  was  the  proper 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  217 

thing  on  such  occasions,  and  no  doubt  looked  well. 
But  was  his  hair  all  right  ? 

He  drew  forth  the  brass  tap,  and  tried  to  make 
out  his  own  reflection  swimming  unsteadily  in  the 
polished  metal. 

Perhaps  he  had  spoken  aloud.  For  suddenly  his 
father  appeared  in  the  open  door.  The  first  astonish- 
ment in  his  face  changed  to  inflamed  fury,  and  he 
swung  back  his  boot  ready  for  a  blow. 

Sivert,  terrified,  held  up  the  brass  tap  like  a 
crucifix  above  his  head,  as  if  to  guard. 

His  thoughts  were  scattered  in  flight  like  sparrows 
at  a  shot,  but  some  instinct  came  to  his  aid,  and  he 
cried  out  in  his  cracked  voice,  echoing  through  the 
house  : 

"  Oh,  Lord  my  God,  I've  brought  your  brass 
tap." 

Sivert's  ideas  as  to  his  father  on  earth  and  his 
Father  in  heaven  had  always  been  somewhat  vague ; 
now,  they  seemed  fused  into  one. 

The  effect  of  his  words  was  beyond  compre- 
hension. The  threatened  kick  did  not  fall  ;  his 
father  snatched  up  the  tap  instead,  and  said  : 

"  Wherever  did  you  find  it  ?  I've  been  wanting 
it  all  the  time." 

"  In  the  cellar,"  said  Sivert.  "  But  it  wasn't  me 
that  didn't  bring  it  along." 

And  with  an  idiot  laugh  he  collapsed  in  his 
mother's  arms. 


2i8  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

Egholm  stood  by  the  window  overlooking  the 
yard.  He  blew  through  the  tap,  and  turned  it 
lovingly  in  his  fingers.  A  great  ship  came  throbbing 
towards  him  and  took  him  on  board.  And  he 
mounted  up,  high,  high,  up  to  the  bridge. 

"  Full  speed  ahead !  Stand  by !  Full  speed 
astern  !  " 

And  the  ship  went  astern  till  Captain  Egholm 
felt  the  tears  welling  into  his  eyes  with  delight.  A 
little  after,  he  went  to  the  kitchen  door. 

"  Sivert  !  " 

A  timorous  "  Yes  "  came  from  within. 

"  Did  you  really  think  I  was  God  Himself  ?  " 

Sivert  nodded. 

His  father  turned  on  his  heel  and  said  calmly  : 

"  Then  you  were  wrong,  boy,  because  I'm  not." 


XVII 

EGHOLM  went  up  to  the  station  in  a  great 
state  of  excitement  every  time  a  train  was 
due  from  Odense.  There  had  come  a 
wondrous  letter  in  a  blue  envelope  from  the  Brethren 
there — a  document  to  the  effect  that  the  community 
had  voted  him  a  gift  of  money.  It  would  be  de- 
livered in  person  within  a  few  days,  by  Evangelist 
Karlsen. 

The  letter  lay  on  the  floor,  as  if  deposited  by 
mysterious  means  from  above.  And  certainly  no  one 
had  heard  the  postman  come. 

Egholm  gave  thanks  to  God.  That  was  a  thing 
which  should  be  done  to  the  full,  and  preferably  a 
little  before  the  fulfilment  of  his  prayer. 

For  the  first  few  days  he  talked  a  great  deal 
about  the  practice  he  had  gradually  acquired  in  the 
art  of  prayer.  But  as  Karlsen  still  failed  to  appear, 
he  grew  silent,  and  began  going  up  to  meet  the 
trains.  And  then  at  last,  on  the  eighth  day,  just  as 
he  came  home  tired  and  discouraged  from  the  station, 
there  sat  the  Evangelist  himself  in  the  parlour. 

He,  too,  looked  as  if  some  angel  had  brought  him 
on  wings  through  the  air,  though,  as  a  matter  of  fact. 


220  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

tliis  was  not  the  case.  He  explained  himself  that 
he  had  come  by  train  from  Jutland. 

Egholm  forgot  to  take  oflF  his  coat  ;  he  sat  down 
opposite  his  ancient  enemy,  lacking  words  with  which 
to  begin.  And,  truth  to  tell,  he  was  humiliated  and 
abashed  after  all  at  having  to  accept  a  gift,  in  view 
of  what  had  passed.  What  made  things  worse  was 
that  the  Evangelist  was  grown  so  surpassingly  elegant 
in  his  dress.  No  more  butcher-boots — nothing  like 
it.  Striped  trousers  he  wore,  and  a  smart-looking 
collar  and  cuffs.  True,  the  last  were  of  indiarubber, 
but  still.  .  .  .  His  moustache  was  simply  beyond 
description,  and  the  blue-black  wether-eyes  glittered 
like  globes  of  lightning.  Under  his  chair  was  a 
handbag,  undeniably  new,  but,  of  course,  .  .  .  no, 
of  course,  it  couldn't  be  the  money  in  that. 

Karlsen  looked  round  the  room,  and  thrust  his 
shoulders  back,  as  if  preparing  to  speak,  but  still  he 
did  not  seem  to  find  the  suitable  "  word." 

What  was  he  to  say  ?  As  for  the  gift,  that  could 
wait  a  little.  A  sermon  would  hardly  do  cither, 
though  he  was  known  to  be  a  first-rate  hand  at  that. 
Suppose  he  were  to  launch  out  with  a  suitable  text  ? 
Yes,  that  would  be  the  thing  ! 

Karlsen  went  about,  so  to  speak,  with  his  pockets 
full  of  texts,  which  he  used,  now  to  smite  the  head 
of  an  unruly  disciple,  now  to  scatter  like  golden 
largesse  among  the  poor.  He  had,  too,  long  extracts 
from   Revelations,   which   could   be   flung  like  lassos 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  221 

to  entangle  the  ungodly,  cooling  draughts  from  the 
Sermon  on  the  Mount,  and  blood  and  fire  from  the 
Mosaic  portions  of  the  Old  Testament.  But  it 
always  took  a  certain  degree  of  opposition  before  he 
could  be  brought  to  use  them. 

Egholm  asked  in  a  very  general  way  how  the 
Brotherhood  was  getting  on. 

"  First-rate,"  said  Karlsen,  with  an  absent  yawn 
— "  first-rate,"  and  relapsed  into  silence. 

Egholm  could  not  keep  away  from  the  scene  of 
the  crime.     He  stammered  out  : 

"  Karlsen,  you  mustn't  regard  my  attack — my 
somewhat  over-zealous  attack,  perhaps — that  evening, 
you  know,  as — as  evidence  of  enmity  towards  the 
Brethren.  Not  in  the  least.  There  was  much  in 
the  Brotherhood  that  I  greatly  appreciated.  A 
certain  simplicity.  .  .  .  No ;  if  hard  words  were 
said,  they  were  due  to  a  momentary  indignation 
over  the  refusal  to  give  me  a  plain,  straightforward 
answer  to  my  definite  question,  regarding  that  text 
in  the  Epistle  to  the  Hebrews,  which — at  any  rate 
to  my  humble  mind — expressly  annuls  all  giving  of 
tithes." 

Karlsen  gloated  awhile  over  Egholm's  downcast 
eyes  and  the  tip  of  his  tongue  creeping  over  dry 
lips.  He  wrinkled  up  his  forehead  deeply,  and  said, 
with  that  crafty,  ingratiating  smile  that  was  so 
thoroughly  his  own  : 

"  An  answer,  my  dear  friends — why,  of  course. 


222  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

Nothing  easier.  You  shall  have  it  to-day.  I've  a 
big  fat  book  here  in  my  bag ;  you  can  read  it  there 
to  your  heart's  content.  .  .  ." 

"  A  book  ?  .  .  ." 

"  Yes.  Half  a  minute,  I'll  show  you.  Six 
kroner^s  the  price  of  it,  but  there's  edifying  reading 
for  more  than  twice  the  money.  Guaranteed.  A 
big  fat  book,  bound  cloth  boards.  Let  me  show 
you." 

"  No,  no.  I'll  take  your  word  for  it.  No  doubt 
it's  excellent.     But  .  .  .  er  .  .  .  well  .  .  ." 

It  would  be  sheer  madness  to  offend  Karlsen 
now,  and  send  him  away  with  the  three  or  four 
hundred  kroner,  but  still,  there  was  no  sense  in  spend- 
ing the  six  kroner  if  it  could  be  helped.  Egholm 
knew  the  book  well  enough  himself — a  rambling 
translation  from  the  English. 

"  But  .  .  .  er  .  .  .  well,  you  know,  there  was 
nothing  said  about  that  on  the  night.  If  only  they'd 
given  me  an  answer  in  some  way  or  other,  I'm  sure 
I'd  never  have  resigned  from  the  Brotherhood  at 
all." 

"  You  never  did  resign  from  the  Brotherhood  !  " 

"  Well,  no,  not  resigned  exactly  .  .  .  that  is  to 
say  .  .  ." 

Egholm  sat  crushed  and  despairing  in  the  arm- 
chair, letting  Karlsen  do  with  him  as  he  pleased. 

"  No,  my  dear  good  man,  what  possessed  you  to 
say  so  ?     If  you  weren't  a  disciple  still,  of  course  we 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  223 

shouldn't  have  troubled  to  help  you.  Nothing  to 
do  with  us,  you  understand.  As  it  is,  why,  we  hung 
up  a  box  for  you  at  the  meeting." 

Egholm  sighed  inaudibly,  and  inwardly  reduced 
his  claim  to  half.  So  they  had  hung  up  a  collecting 
box  for  him.  Well,  well.  He  knew  those  boxes. 
There  were  a  number  of  them — hung  along  the  wall 
like  a  row  of  young  birds  with  hungrily  gaping 
mouths.  He  remembered  how  the  Evangelist  used 
to  draw  attention  to  them  discreetly  before  closing 
the  proceedings  for  each  evening — quite  unnecessarily, 
by  the  way,  seeing  that  Karlsen  senior,  the  Angel  of 
the  flock,  stood  with  hand  outstretched  in  farewell, 
just  where  the  boxes  began. 

"  And  now,  my  dear  friends,  we  have  heard  the 
Word,  for  our  souls'  good,  and  that  we  can  take 
with  us  in  our  hearts.  And,  in  return,  let  us  not 
forget  to  put  something  in  the  boxes.  No  one  calls 
upon  you  to  give  much.  When  each  gives  what  he 
can,  it  is  enough.  The  first  is  for  the  hall,  that  we 
may  have  a  place  to  meet  in  ;  the  second  is  for 
light  and  firing — neither  of  these  can  be  got  for 
nothing,  my  dear  friends — and  the  third  is  for 
myself — I  need  hardly  remind  you,  my  dear  friends, 
that  I  cannot  live  on  air.  The  fourth  is  for  members 
of  the  Brotherhood  in  distress,  and  the  fifth  towards 
the  purchase  of  a  library.  Put  a  little  in  each,  and 
your  conscience  will  be  at  ease  ! " 

On  tithe  nights  the  boxes  were  not  in  evidence. 


224  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

Egholm  remembered  that  according  to  an  un- 
written law  it  was  permissible  to  pass  by  the  boxes 
for  Brethren  in  distress  and  for  the  library.  How 
would  it  have  been  with  the  sixth  in  the  row,  hung 
up  for  Egholm  in  the  throes  of  poverty  ? 

"  Did  any  of  them  give  anything  ?  "  he  asked 
humbly. 

"  Oh,  it  brought  in  quite  a  lot,"  said  Karlsen 
comfortingly.  "  Quite  a  decent  little  sum.  You 
see  " — he  leaned  forward  confidentially  and  plucked 
at  Egholm's  coat  collar,  almost  stupefying  him  with 
his  tobacco-laden  breath — "  I  got  the  old  man  to 
stand  beside  it  !  " 

He  gave  Egholm  a  friendly  shake,  and  laughed  in 
a  spluttering  shower. 

"  But  there's  one  condition.  I  may  as  well  tell 
you  that  first  as  last.  The  condition  of  your  re- 
ceiving this  gift  is,  that  your  wife  becomes  a  member 
of  the  Brotherhood.  Both  of  you,  you  understand 
— or  no  gift  !  For  it's  her  fault  we've  had  all  this 
bother  about  you.  Yes,  I've  found  that  out.  She's 
from  Aalborg.    I  know  those  obstinate  Jutland  folk  !  " 

"  My  wife  !  "  cried  Egholm.  New  difficulties 
towered  before  him  at  the  idea,  but,  at  the  same 
time,  the  value  of  the  gift  seemed  to  increase.  He 
sprang  to  his  feet,  and  ran  to  the  kitchen  door. 

"  Well,  there  you  are.  Now  you  can  talk  it  over 
with  her,"  said  Karlsen,  with  a  laugh,  leaning  his 
head  back  and  showing  the  scar  of  his  "  glands  "  and 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  225 

his  ill-shaven  throat.  "  But,  look  here,  tell  her  at 
the  same  time  I'm  staying  till  the  eight  o'clock 
train,  so  you'll  have  to  find  me  a  bite  of  something 
to  eat.  You  know  what  it  says  about  us  Evan- 
gelists :  we're  to  have  neither  scrip  nor  staff,  but 
take  that  which  is  set  before  us." 

Fru  Egholm  was  busy  plaiting  hair  at  the  kitchen 
table.  Her  husband  could  see  from  the  way  she 
tugged  at  her  work  that  she  had  followed  the  con- 
versation in  the  next  room. 

"  Never  as  long  as  I  live,"  she  said  firmly. 

A  catastrophe  seemed  imminent,  but  Egholm 
was  so  destitute  of  physical  or  moral  force  at  the 
moment  that  he  contented  himself  with  a  threatening 
gesture. 

"  And  as  for  supper,"  she  went  on,  "  wild  horses 
wouldn't  give  us  more  than  we've  got,  and  that's  no 
more  than  bread  and  dripping  and  a  rind  of  cheese." 

"  Nothing  hot — not  even  a  cup  of  tea  ?  " 

"  Only  the  clove." 

"  Only  the  clove  !  As  if  that  wasn't  good 
enough." 

Clove  tea  was  one  of  Egholm's  minor  inventions. 
One  day  when  the  tea  and  coffee  canisters  were  as 
empty  as  his  empty  purse,  he  had  manufactured  an 
aromatic  beverage  from  cloves  and  hot  water.  He 
himself  drank  it  thereafter  in  quantities  and  with 
relish,  and  Sivert  was  for  a  time  in  his  good  books 
merely  on  account  of  the'^  audible  "  Aaah !  "  which 
15 


226  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

he  gave  when  it  was  poured  out.  Fru  Egholm,  too, 
conceded  that  it  was  certainly  cheap — a  packet  of 
cloves  costing  two  ore  sufficed  for  a  whole  month. 
But  Hedvig  would  not  touch  it. 

"  Good  enough  for  that  young  humbug,  yes." 

Once  more  Egholm  felt  his  hands  itching  with 
murderous  instincts,  but  when  the  tension  was  at 
its  height,  a  spark  flew  over  to  some  nerve  of  humour. 
He  bent  down  almost  double,  put  one  hand  to  his 
mouth  like  a  funnel,  and  whispered  in  his  wife's 
ear  : 

"  Sh  !     Remember,  his  father's  an  Angel  !  " 

The  Evangelist  closed  his  puffy  eyes  reflectively 
for  a  moment  when  Egholm  returned  and  stated  what 
was  the  menu  for  the  day. 

"  H'm.  I'll  stay,  all  the  same,"  he  said.  And 
added  a  moment  after  :  "  If  there's  eggs,  I  like 
them  hard  boiled." 

"  Hard  boiled — yes,  yes,"  said  Egholm,  precisely 
in  the  manner  of  a  waiter,  and  disappeared  into  the 
kitchen  once  more. 

"  I  never  heard  the  like — that  rascally  scamp  .  .  . 
thinks  we  can  dig  up  eggs  out  of  the  ground — and 
that  in  December  !  Why,  only  to  ask  at  the  grocer's 
they'd  think  we  were  mad.  Eggs,  indeed  !  Eggs — 
on  credit !  No,  as  long  as  we  can  get  what's  barely 
needful.     Why  .  .  ." 

Rut  Egholm,  with  great  ends  in  view,  wasted 
little  time  in  talk.     He  went  out  himself,  and  returned 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  227 

five  minutes  later  with  a  bag  of  eggs  and  a  lump  of 
sausage,  which  he  set  down  triumphantly  on  the 
kitchen  table.  Thus  supper  was  provided  of  a  kind 
to  exceed  Karlsen's  expectations,  and  set  him  in  good 
humour. 

Both  laughed,  Karlsen,  however,  the  louder, 
when  the  host's  egg  was  found  to  be  bad.  As  for  the 
clove  tea,  Karlsen,  like  Hedvig,  did  not  find  it  to  his 
taste.  He  explained  that  he  liked  something  with  a 
little  more  colour,  his  taste  and  smell  having  suffered 
through  smoking. 

Then,  at  a  suitable  moment,  Egholm  said  : 

"  My  wife  says  she  won't  come  into  the  Brother- 
hood at  any  price — not  just  at  the  moment,  that  is 
to  say.  But  perhaps  later,  I've  no  doubt  .  .  .  that 
is  to  say  .  .  ." 

And  he  waited  for  the  answer  with  the  sweat 
standing  out  on  his  forehead. 

"  Oh,  well,  never  mind.  Hang  the  condition. 
We'll  leave  it  out." 

Egholm  could  have  knelt  at  his  feet. 

Karlsen  went  on  to  tell  of  the  Brotherhood  and 
its  doings.  Everything  was  going  on  first-rate.  Fru 
Westergaard  had  got  dropsy,  and  there  was  every 
likelihood — here  Karlsen  clicked  his  tongue  in  antici- 
pation— every  likelihood  of  her  bequeathing  them  a 
whole  heap  of  money.  The  Angel  went  to  see  her 
practically  every  day,  and,  in  case  of  need,  the  Prophet 
from  Copenhagen  would  come  too. 


228  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

"  Father's  in  touch  with  a  heap  of  them,  you 
know.  By  letter.  He  got  a  letter  the  other  day 
from  John  the  Apostle.     He's  in  London." 

"  John  the  Apostle  ?  You  don't  mean  ...  Is 
that  ..." 

"  Exactly.  Fie  lives  in  London.  Don't  you 
know  it's  written  :  *  If  he  tarry  till  I  come,  what 
is  that  to  thee  ?  '  Yes,  he'll  be  here  all  right,  up 
to  the  day  of  the  coming  again.  Father's  got  his 
address,  but  he  keeps  himself  quiet,  you  understand, 
mostly.  And  Father  doesn't  say  where  he  is,  but 
I  managed  to  get  hold  of  it,  all  the  same.  I  sent  him 
a  picture  post  card  from  Veile  only  yesterday." 

Egholm  ran  in  to  borrow  a  pipe  from  Marinus. 
On  the  way  he  whispered  to  his  wife  : 

"  He's  the  biggest  liar  on  earth.  But  if  only 
he'd  hand  over  that  money.  ...  I  can't  stand  the 
suspense.     Put  in  a  prayer  meanwhile." 

The  Evangelist  puffed  great  clouds,  and  delivered 
another  turn  or  so. 

"  I've  something  to  tell  you,  my  dear  friend- 
in  confidence,  that  is.  The  Star  of  Bethlehein's  been 
seen  I  " 

He  bent  over  Egholm  and  stared  full  into  his 
eyes. 

"  Yes,  the  Star  of  Bethlehem — right  over  Odense, 
it  was." 

And  he  puflFed  a  spurt  of  smoke  into  Egholm's 
face,  his  own  contracting  into  an  unconcealed  grin. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  229 

"  My  father,  the  Angel,  was  standing  in  his  office, 
and  he  saw  it.  It  isn't  everyone  that  can  see  it, 
you  know.  But  I  could.  It  was  the  hugest  star 
I've  ever  seen." 

Egholm  condescended  to  shake  his  head  as  if 
deeply  impressed.  For  the  rest,  his  every  nerve-cell 
was  concentrating  in  an  effort  to  hypnotise  Karlsen's 
hand  into  Karlsen's  pocket  for  that  bundle  of  notes. 

At  eleven  minutes  past  seven  the  Evangelist  laid 
down  his  pipe  and  buttoned  his  coat. 

"  The  money  !  Er — you'll  excuse  me,  but — 
you're  not  forgetting  .  .  .  that  gift.  .  .  .  No  hurry, 
of  course,  not  in  the  least.  ..." 

"  You  shall  have  it.  I'm  not  forgetting  it,  no," 
said  Karlsen,  with  unction.  "  It's  not  a  great  sum, 
but  with  the  blessing  of  the  Lord  it  may  go  a  long 
way." 

He  drew  out  a  leather  purse  with  a  string  from 
his  pocket,  unfastened  the  lace  with  exasperating 
care,  and  flung  out  a  hand  with  a  two-kroner 
piece. 

"  Two  kroner !  Is  that — the  gift  ?  Karlsen, 
you  don't  mean  it  !  "  said  Egholm,  weeping. 

"  One  daler,  yes,"  said  Karlsen,  laughing  heartily. 
But  his  expression  changed  suddenly,  possibly  in- 
fluenced by  Egholm's  threatening  look,  and,  resuming 
his  dignified  manner,  he  went  on  : 

"  The  gift  was  originally  forty-two  kroner  alto- 
gether, that  being  the  sum  found  when  the  box  was 


230  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

opened.  Fru  Westergaard  gave  thirty-five  herself. 
You  were  in  her  good  books,  my  friend." 

Karlsen  allowed  himself  a  momentary  lapse  from 
dignity  to  the  extent  of  a  single  wink. 

"  The  rocking-chair,"  murmured  Egholm  re- 
miniscently. 

"  But,"  went  on  the  Evangelist,  "  you  owed 
arrears  of  tithe  ever  since  February  of  last  year.  .  .  ." 

His  voice  grew  thick  with  imminent  laughter. 

"  So  we  decided  to  annex  the  forty  kroner  for 
tithes — and  here's  the  rest  !  " 

"  Decided  .  .  .  who  decided  ?  When  the  money 
was  collected  for  me  ?     Impossible  !  " 

"  The  congregation  agreed  to  it,"  said  Karlsen 
unconcernedly.  Then  suddenly  he  dug  one  thumb 
into  his  despairing  brother's  ribs,  uttered  a  sound  like 
the  rasp  of  a  saw,  and  whispered  : 

"  And    Fru    Westergaard   was    there,    too — my 


son  I 


I  " 


Limp  and  utterly  dispirited,  Egholm  walked  up 
with  Karlsen  to  the  station.  A  strange  feeling  of 
detachment  had  come  over  him,  and  the  inclination 
to  weep  that  he  always  felt  after  great  excitement. 

Karlsen  walked  a  couple  of  paces  ahead,  talking 
gaily  over  his  shoulder. 

"  What  say  ?  "  queried  Egholm  against  the  wind. 
The  handbag  with  edifying  works  at  six  kroner  cloth 
boards  weighed  heavily  in  his  numbed  hand. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  231 

"  I  say,  it's  a  good  thing  we're  near  the  end  of 
the  month." 

"  Yes,"  agreed  Egholm.  "  But  what  d'you 
mean  ?  " 

"  Pay  day,  my  dear  man.  And  I  can  do  with 
it!" 

'*  But  I  thought — I  thought  the  work  was  volun- 
tary.    It  says  in  the  Rules  of  the  Brotherhood  ..." 

"  Well,  what  d'you  expect  me  to  live  on  ?  " 

"  Why,  gifts." 

"  Huh  !  A  long  way  that'd  go.  About  as  far 
as  .  .  ." 

"  No,  of  course  .  .  ."  agreed  Egholm  meekly, 
shifting  the  bag  to  his  other  hand. 

"  But  they  don't  pay  me  enough, "  said  the 
EvangeHst  harshly.  "Not  by  a  long  way.  Every- 
thing's getting  dearer,  and  I've  had  a  lot  of  extra 
expenses  into  the  bargain.  I  helped  a  poor  girl  that 
had  got  into  trouble.  A  Fr0ken  Madsen.  Bought 
her  a  cigar  shop  in  Kerteminde  ;  it  cost  an  awful 
sum.  But  she  was  a  sort  of  relation — not  of  mine, 
you  understand.  My  wife's  people.  But  I  count  it 
all  the  same,  of  course.  No,  they'll  have  to  give  me 
a  rise.  And  they  will,  too,  I  know.  They  can't  do 
without  me,  and  that's  the  end  of  it." 

They  reached  the  station,  and  Karlsen  took  his 
ticket. 

"  Second  class,  I  said,"  he  cried,  and  winked  at 
Egholm. 


232  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

"  Came  from  Veile,  and  going  back  to  Veile. 
Life's  one  long  journey.  Anyhow,  it's  what  we're 
supposed  to  do  :  go  out  into  the  world  and  make 
converts.  Know  a  man  named  Justesen  in  Veile  ? 
Horse-dealer.  No  ?  Ah,  he's  a  man  if  you  like  ! 
Never  troubles  to  ask  the  price  when  he  finds  a  pair 
to  suit  him.  '  Bring  'em  along ' — that's  all  he 
says." 

"  Horse-dealers  don't  go  in  much  for  religion  as 
a  rule." 

"  Not  him — no.  But  his  wife  !  "  said  Karlsen, 
rasping  again  like  a  saw.  "  His  wife.  .  .  .  Had  a 
wire  from  Justesen  last  evening ;  he's  coming  home 
to-day  and  going  off  again  by  the  night  train  to 
Hamburg.  So  off  I  go  to  look  up  my  old  friend 
Egholm — what  ?  " 

"  Yes  .  .  ."  said  Egholm. 

He  stood  in  the  waiting-room  a  little  after  the 
train  had  gone,  warming  himself  by  the  stove.  Then 
he  shook  his  head  and  staggered  off  homewards. 

Again  and  again  he  tried  to  reckon  up  how  he 
stood. 

"  No  hope  of  getting  to  work  on  the  boat  now," 
he  muttered.  But,  to  his  surprise,  he  found  his 
thoughts  refused  to  dwell  on  this  disaster,  which 
should  by  rights  have  overshadowed  all  else. 

No  ;   he  could  think  of  one  thing— he  was  hungry. 

For  months  past  he  had  not  had  a  decent  meal, 
and,  though  he  had  not  realised  it  himself,  his  looking 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  233 

forward  to  that  gift  from  the  Brotherhood  had  been 
associated  with  an  indomitable  desire  ior  food. 

Outside  his  own  door  he  stopped.  The  scent  of 
the  clove  tea  came  to  greet  him,  and  revolted  him 
for  the  first  time.  He  turned  round  and  walked 
away  again,  out  over  the  sandhills,  along  the  quay, 
and  down  between  the  warehouses. 

The  group  of  fishermen  sighted  his  thin,  fluttering 
figure  in  the  gloom,  shook  themselves,  and  pressed 
their  backs  closer  against  the  wall  of  the  shed. 

But  Egholm  found  at  last  an  old  green  rowing 
boat  among  those  drawn  up  on  the  beach.  He 
struck  a  match,  and  made  sure  it  was  the  one. 

Then  he  clambered  up  on  to  it,  and  knelt  down 
on  the  boards. 

The  wind  tore  his  plaintive  prayer  to  shreds,  and 
strewed  a  shower  of  broken,  unmeaning  sounds  out 
over  the  harbour  and  the  town. 


XVIII 

EGHOLM'S  God  was  perhaps  not  as  generous 
as  might  be  wished,  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
possessed  of  limitless  patience  as  a  listener, 
differing  in  this  regard  considerably  from  the  children 
of  men.  It  was  perhaps  this  which  led  Egholm,  the 
ever  restless,  to  come  again  faithfully  with  his  hopes 
and  his  prayers,  though  he  might  have  turned  away 
in  dudgeon  but  a  short  while  back. 

It  was  not  brain-weariness.  That  was  an  ail- 
ment Egholm  never  knew.  He  lived,  as  it  were, 
under  full  sail  all  day  and  night.  He  rose  in  the 
morning,  swallowed  his  clove  tea,  hurried  out  to  his 
place  of  prayer  in  the  woods,  and  came  back  about 
dinner-time.  Then  he  would  mess  about  for  a  few 
hours  in  the  studio,  while  his  thoughts  flew  all  ways 
at  will,  generally  down  to  the  beach,  where  he 
struggled  with  imaginary  parts  of  his  machine  in  an 
imaginary  boat,  but  ready  and  willing  to  occupy 
themselves  with  anything  of  any  sort  anywhere  in  the 
world.  Egholm  felt  it  a  wasted  day  when  he  had 
not  stowed  away  a  couple  of  new  inventions  in  the 
warehouse  of  his  mind.  And  a  night  that  brought 
him  nothing  but  sleep  and  rest  he  counted  empty 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  235 

and  unfruitful.  Better  a  touch  of  the  horrors  than 
just  nothing.  For,  painful  as  it  was  to  have  Clara 
Steen's  face  there  before  him  in  the  dark,  taking  the 
blows  that  Anna  should  have  had,  still,  after  all — in 
the  long  run  —  one  could  get  used  to  anything. 
Yes. 

True,  it  was  no  use  striking  Anna,  but  it  was  at 
least  excusable.  And  God  never  said  anything  about 
it  to  him  out  in  the  woods  where  he  prayed.  More 
especially  since  that  boy  had  come  home  it  was 
excusable  .  .  .  nay,  it  was  a  simple  necessity. 

Thus  Egholm  forgave  his  God  and  revenged  him- 
self on  his  family. 

His  wife  noticed,  too,  how  the  boy's  coming  had 
brought  a  kind  of  ferment  into  their  home  life.  Ah, 
why  should  it  be  so  ?  There  he  sat,  the  little  lad, 
at  her  side,  as  simple  and  innocent  as  when  he  was  a 
child,  helping  her  at  her  work.  She  did  all  she  could 
to  make  him  appear  a  harmless  and  useful  item  about 
the  house.  She  would  have  liked  to  make  him 
invisible,  but  his  father  saw  the  boy  to  the  exclusion 
of  all  else,  circled  round  him,  shot  sparks  at  him,  and 
might  be  found  gripping  him  by  the  hair  if  she  only 
went  out  into  the  kitchen  for  a  minute. 

Things  could  not  go  on  like  this.  And  so  one 
afternoon  she  put  on  the  best  things  she  possessed, 
and  went  out  with  Sivert  to  try  and  find  him  a 
place. 

With  trembling  knees  she  walked  straight  into 


236  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

Lund's  smart  drapery  shop.  After  all,  he  couldn't 
do  more  than  eat  her.  And  she  always  went  to  him 
for  what  she  needed  in  the  way  of  thread  and  material, 
and  that  was  the  truth.  They  stood  just  inside  the 
door,  waiting  for  other  customers  to  be  served  first. 
Modesty,  that  was  the  way. 

There  !  Minna  Lund,  the  daughter  of  the 
house,  coming  in  with  coffee  for  the  assistant.  Was 
there  ever  such  a  place  ?  She  set  down  the  tray  on  a 
step-ladder,  and  began  pulling  out  drawers  full  of 
ribbons. 

A  little  princess,  that  was  the  least  one  could 
call  her — though  little  was  hardly  the  word,  seeing 
she  was  half  a  head  taller  than  her  father.  Why,  she 
could  wind  off  as  many  yards  of  ribbon  as  she  pleased, 
without  even  asking  the  price. 

And  the  mother,  standing  there,  fell  to  weaving 
a  long  and  beautiful  future  for  her  boy  in  Lund's 
splendid  house.  Those  two  young  people — they 
would  surely  have  an  eye  to  each  other.  .  .  .  And 
then  when  Sivert's  apprenticeship  was  at  an  end, 
and  Lund  was  getting  on  in  years,  who  knows.  .  .  . 
Once  they  found  out  what  a  heart  the  boy  had,  surely 
there'd  be  no  one  in  the  world  they'd  sooner  trust 
with  their  daughter  and  the  shop.   .   .   . 

She  pressed  Sivert's  hand  ;  for  here  was  Lund 
himself  right  in  front  of  licr,  bowing  politely.  He 
wouldn't  eat  her,  no  fear  of  that.  .  .  . 

So  Fru  Egholm  had  thought  of  having  her  son 


EGHOI.M  AND  HIS  GOD  237 

apprenticed  to  the  business  ?  Why,  a  nice  idea,  to 
be  sure.   .  .  . 

Lund  was  a  little  man  with  a  full  beard,  and 
elegantly  dressed  in  brand-new  things,  but  with  a 
thread  or  a  piece  of  fluff  here  and  there.  And  his 
manner  was  precisely  the  same. 

He  talked  with  studied  ease  and  distinction, 
flourishing  the  roll  of  material  before  him  into  a 
fan  as  he  spoke.  And  so  thoroughly  did  he  possess 
the  gift  of  salesmanship  that  a  moment  later  Fru 
Egholm  was  eagerly  discussing  with  him  how  much 
it  would  take  for  a  pair  of  curtains. 

"  Or  we've  a  rather  better  quality,"  said  Lund, 
reaching  for  another  roll.  But  here  Fru  Egholm 
came  to  herself,  and  thrust  Sivert  forward. 

"  Well,  you  know,  I'm  afraid,"  said  Lund  kindly — 
he  had  only  forgotten  the  business  of  the  apprentice- 
ship for  a  moment — "  we  could  hardly  .  .  .  you  see, 
we  make  a  point  of  taking  only  boys  —  pupils  in 
the  business  that  is — from  better-class  homes.  The 
customers  demand  it." 

"But" — the  mother  was  ready  to  sink  into 
the  ground  for  shame — but  .  .  .  Sivert  was  from  a 
better-class  home.  Not  meaning  herself,  of  course, 
but  her  husband.  He  knew  all  sorts  of  languages, 
English  and  French  and  so  on.  And  only  a  little 
time  back  he'd  been  an  assistant  on  the  railway  — 
why  they  had  his  uniform  coat  in  the  house  now  ! 
Hr.  Lund  ought  just  to  hear  him  talk  and  speak  up 


238  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

for  himself,  like  he  did  with  those  people  from  the 
Public  Health  Committee.  And  as  for  Sivert,  he 
was  as  good  and  honest  a  lad  as  any  could  wish  to 
have. 

Hr.  Lund  didn't  doubt  it  for  a  moment,  but — er 
— well,  one  could  hardly  see  it,  for  instance,  from  the 
way  he  was  dressed,  you  know.  Now,  could  you  ? 
And  Lund  bent  over  the  counter  with  a  smile, 
whereby  his  own  coat  was  brought  in  close  proximity 
to  Sivert's  blouse.  He  he  !  Still,  he  might  just 
examine  the  young  man  a  little.  Sivert  was  given 
two  or  three  smart  questions,  while  his  mother  was 
on  the  point  of  swooning  from  confusion.  Then 
Lund  turned  calmly  round  and  took  down  the  roll 
of  material  before  mentioned — the  rather  better 
quality.   .   .   . 

"  But  how  about  the  place  ?  "  asked  Fru  Egholm 
doubtfully.     "  Is  he  to  have  it  ?  " 

"  Eh  ?  Oh,  no.  I've  no  use  for  him.  Did  you 
notice  he  said  '  drawers  '  ?  Well,  '  knickers  '  is  the 
proper  word — at  any  rate,  the  one  we  use  in  this 
establishment.  A  little  trap  of  mine,  you  know. 
He  he  !  " 

Fru  Egholm  sighed,  purchased  resignedly  a  reel 
of  No.  50  white,  and  left  the  shop.  She  and  Sivert 
went  to  many  places  that  day — to  a  barber's,  to  Bro, 
the  grocer,  and  at  last  to  the  editor  of  the  Knarreby 
News — only  to  wander  home  at  last  discouraged  at  a 
total  failure  all  round. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 


239 


Well,  she  would  leave  it  for  a  day  or  two,  and 
look  round. 

"  Find  him  a  place  ?  "  asked  Egholm. 

"  Well — there's  places  enough  where  they'd  be 
glad  to  have  him.  .  .  ." 

"  That  is  to  say,  you  didnH  find  him  a  place  ?  " 

Fru  Egholm  was  so  very  loth  to  utter  that  little 
decisive  "  No."  She  talked  eagerly  about  the 
Christmas  sales  at  Bro's  and  Lund's. 

".  .  .  And,  do  you  know,  the  editor,  he  knew 
about  your  plans  with  the  machine  business.  He 
asked  a  heap  of  things,  and  said  you  were  a  genius." 

The  subject  was  wisely  chosen.  And  it  did  draw 
off  attention  for  the  moment  from  the  matter  in 
hand,  but  then  her  husband  lapsed  into  his  gloomy 
thoughts  once  more. 

"  No — we'll  never  get  rid  of  him  now.  Who'd 
ever  have  him  ?  What  can  you  use  a  head  like  that 
for,  anyway  ?  He's  little  better  than  a  lunatic.  Eh  ? 
What  do  you  say  ?  " 

Here  Fru  Egholm  suddenly  appeared  unwontedly 
versed  in  the  Scriptures.  She  answered  boldly,  and 
with  emphasis  : 

"  Well,  there's  one  place  where  Sivert  won't  be 
set  behind  the  rest — even  if  they're  ever  so  much  of 
a  genius." 

"  Eh,  what — what  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  say  :  Blessed  are  the  foor  in  spirit,  for  theirs 
is  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  /  " 


240  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

Egholm  gasped,  utterly  at  a  loss,  and  made  no 
answer. 

Sivert  slept  in  the  little  back  room  where 
Hedvig  had  her  couch.  He  lay  on  the  floor,  upon  a 
sort  of  bed  of  some  nondescript  material,  and  slept 
in  his  clothes  to  keep  warm.  Nevertheless,  he  went 
to  bed  with  a  smile  on  his  lips.  His  father's  persecu- 
tion could  not  shatter  his  joy  at  being  at  home. 
Even  the  blows  and  kicks  he  got  beat  into  him  the 
fact  that  he  was  at  home,  and  he  took  them  without 
complaint.     Yes,  all  was  well,  everything. 

Next  morning,  as  Egholm  was  gulping  down  his 
tea,  he  caught  sight  of  Sivert's  bowed  and  huddled 
figure  slipping  across  the  yard.  Ordinarily,  Sivert 
stole  out  of  his  room  by  the  window,  and  kept  out 
of  the  way  till  his  father  had  gone  out — there  was 
no  sense  in  giving  him  the  trouble  of  getting  angry 
if  it  could  be  avoided.  But  to-day  the  boy  had 
overslept  himself. 

Egholm  reached  out  and  rapped  at  the  window, 
at  the  imminent  risk  of  breaking  the  glass. 

Sivert  stopped,  gave  a  sickly  smile,  turned  round 
twice  where  he  stood,  and  made  towards  the  gate. 

"  Here,  you  fool  !  "  roared  his  father,  and  Sivert 
stopped  again. 

"  Be  quick  and  come  in,"  whispered  his  mother 
out  from  the  kitchen  door. 

"  Well,  why  don't  you  come  ?  Put  on  your  cap 
and  come  along  with  me." 


RGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  241 

Sivert  obeyed  without  a  word. 

Egholm  held  the  boy  close  to  his  side,  and  they 
marched  down  the  path  towards  the  beach. 

"  Go  on  ahead,  so  I  can  keep  an  eye  on  you, "  he 
commands.  And  Sivert  walks  on  ahead  with  the 
transcendent  smile  of  the  martyr-about-to-be.  He 
knows  now  he  is  to  die,  but  it  doesn't  matter  so  much, 
after  all.  Going  to  drown  him,  he  supposes,  since 
they  are  making  towards  the  water. 

"  Know  what  you've  got  to  do  ?  "  asks  his 
father. 

"  Yes,"  says  Sivert,  smiling  again.  And  a  little 
after,  he  ventures  to  add  :  "  But  if — if  you  don't 
mind,  I'd  like  it  better  if  you'd  take  a  nice  soft  stone 
and  batter  my  head  with  it.  I'd  die  quite  soon  that 
way.  .  .  ." 

"  Soft  stone  ?  "  says  Egholm  mechanically,  busy 
with  his  own  thoughts.  "  Nonsense.  You  walk 
straight  on  ;  that's  all  you've  got  to  do." 

"  Ah  well,"  sighs  Sivert,  breaking  into  a  trot. 
"  I  was  only  thinking,  perhaps  I'm  not  a  good  one 
to  drown,  after  all.     I  can't  swim,  you  know." 

"  Who's  talking  about  drowning  ?  That  can  wait 
till  to-morrow,  anyway.  You're  coming  out  with 
me  to  a  place  of  mine,  to  pray." 

"  I  think  I'd  like  that  better,  yes,"  said  Sivert. 

But   his   voice   showed   only   the    slightest    possible 

change  of  tone. 

They  walked  along  the  beach  a  long  way,  out  to 
16 


242  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

the  woods.  Sivert  walked  with  an  unsteady  gait ; 
he  would  really  rather  have  died  after  all  if  only 
he  might  be  left  to  himself  for  a  single  minute 
first.  .  .  .  But  his  father  drove  him  on  like  a  donkey 
in  front.  The  boy's  strangeness  of  manner  irritated 
him. 

"  Walk  properly,  boy,  and  keep  your  mind  on 
godly  things  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Sivert,  and  managed  to  call  to  mind 
a  verse  of  a  hymn,  which  he  proceeded  to  mutter  as 
he  went.  But  he  still  walked  unsteadily,  bending 
spasmodically  every  now  and  then. 

"  We  can  stop  here,"  said  his  father,  as  they 
reached  a  wooded  slope,  where  some  young  pines 
stood  out  from  a  thin  covering  ot  snow. 

"  Do  you  know  the  text  :  '  Blessed  are  the  poor 
in  spirit  '  ?  Good.  We'll  say  that  text,  and  then 
a  prayer,  that  you'll  repeat  after  me  word  for  word. 
You  understand  ?  " 

Then,  while  they  were  still  in  the  preparatory 
stage,  kneeling  opposite  each  other  with  bared  heads, 
something  happened  which  destroyed  at  one  blow  all 
possibility  of  further  co-operation. 

Under  cover  of  his  cap,  held  before  him  in  his 
folded  hands,  Sivert  has  managed  to  undo  one 
button.  .  .  . 

Egholm  hears  a  peculiar  sound  .  .  .  springs  up 
with  a  roar.  .  .  . 

Off  goes  Sivert  like  a  hare  across  the  ice,  unable 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  243 

to  stop  what  he  had  already  begun.  It  looked  as  if 
he  were  spinning  a  thread  behind  him  like  a  spider. 
He  had  no  intention  of  returning,  however.  He  had 
but  one  thought — home. 

Egholm  did  not  attempt  to  pursue.  He  tried  to 
go  on  with  his  prayer,  but  gave  it  up,  and  went  into 
the  woods.  He  walked  all  the  morning,  and  came 
round  by  a  wide  detour  into  Knarreby  about  dinner- 
time. But  his  haste  was  such  that  he  passed  by  the 
house  without  thought  of  hunger  or  thirst.  Not  till 
he  was  in  the  main  street  did  he  slacken  his  pace,  and 
begin  looking  absently  into  the  shop  windows.  They 
were  crammed  with  all  manner  of  things — Christmas 
was  near.  There  were  ducks,  and  these  he  noticed 
in  particular,  but  all  the  rest  made  one  confused 
medley  to  his  eyes.  Nevertheless,  he  went  up  to 
the  next  window  and  gazed  at  it  attentively,  as 
if  mentally  selecting  something  specially  rare  and 
costly  as  a  present  for  his  love. 

Then,  at  the  sale  department  of  the  ironfoundry, 
he  came  to  himself  again.  Here  at  last  were  things 
worth  looking  at.  Right  up  against  the  glass  were 
lovely  heavy  castings,  pieces  of  machinery,  and 
metal  parts.  Pumps  of  all  sizes,  stacks  of  copper  and 
brass  tubing,  taps  and  boiler  gauges,  and  heaps  of 
nuts  and  bolts  and  screws,  as  if  a  wagon  load  had 
been  tipped  down  at  random.  Then  there  were 
spiral  coils  of  the  most  delicious  lead  and  hempen 
packing,  and  farther  back,  at  the  end  of  the  shop. 


244  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

stood  a  mail-clad  army  of  stoves.  Somehow  or  other, 
Egholm  always  found  comfort  in  the  sight  of  masses 
of  cold  metal.  Possibly  it  drew  off  the  warmth  of 
his  over-heated  brain. 

Rothe,  the  ironfounder,  a  giant  of  a  man,  stood 
on  the  steps  calling  to  passers-by  in  greeting  :  "  God- 
dag,  goddag/^^ — the  words  seemed  to  echo  in  the 
shield-like  cavity  of  his  stomach.  His  great  head 
shone  as  if  it  were  of  burnished  copper.  Now  he 
caught  sight  of  Egholm. 

"  Hey,  goddag,  goddag,  Egholm  !  How's  the 
turbine  getting  on  ?  " 

Egholm  walked  in  and  spluttered  out  his  latest 
ideas.  Rothe  laughed,  and  slapped  him  genially  on 
the  shoulder. 

"  Henrik  Vang's  full  of  it.  Talks  of  nothing  else 
down  at  the  hotel.  But,  look  here — when  are  you 
going  to  get  it  done  ?    Egholm's  famous  turbine  .  .  ." 

"  Well,  there's  one  or  two  little  things  I  still  want," 
said  Egholm,  walking  round  the  shop  and  fingering 
the  items  that  caught  his  attention. 

"  What  sort  of  things  ?  " 

"  A  boat,  for  instance,  and  a  small  boiler."    Egholm 
mentioned    these   as   carelessly   as   if   it   had   been   a 
matter  of  a  couple  of  waistcoat  buttons.     "But" — 
he  broke  off  suddenly — "  what's  that  thing  there  ?  " 
He  dragged  at  something  in  the  warehouse  behind. 

"  That  ?  Oh,  that's  Dr.  Hoff's  old  bath  oven. 
I've  just  sent  him  a  new  one." 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  245 

Egholm  was  still  pulling  the  thing  about,  when 
Rothe,  who  was  in  his  best  lunch-time  and  Christmas- 
time mood,  said  : 

"  If  it's  any  good  to  you,  bring  round  a  barrow 
and  take  it  along." 

Whereupon  he  slapped  Egholm  again  on  the 
shoulder,  and  took  up  his  post  again  at  the  door, 
dealing  out  his  double-barrelled  greetings  :  "  Goddag 
— goddag  !  " 

Egholm  was  in  high  spirits  for  quite  a  time  over 
his  unexpected  coup.  Then,  happening  to  catch 
sight  of  himself  in  a  mirror-backed  window,  he 
started  in  horror  to  see  what  a  ghastly  figure  he  made. 

Yellow  and  haggard,  with  his  black  beard  hanging 
limp  and  dead  over  his  worn  and  stained  waistcoat. 
A  disgusting  sight. 

Could  it  really  be  the  Lord's  intention  to  starve 
him  to  death  ? 

The  thought  almost  brought  him  to  his  knees  ; 
he  turned  in  through  the  churchyard  gate,  as  to  a 
refuge  where  he  could  recover  himself.  The  naked 
branches  of  the  mighty  chestnuts  sang  in  the  wind, 
and  great  heavy  drops  fell  like  tears  from  the  roof  of 
the  church. 

The  wind  must  have  changed.  It  was  thawing 
now. 

Egholm  noticed  that  he  no  longer  felt  the  biting 
cold.  Perhaps,  after  all,  it  was  not  so  cruelly 
meant. 


246  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

One  end  of  the  fire-ladder  had  fallen  down. 
Egholm  seated  himself  on  it,  with  his  back  against 
the  church  wall.  He  was  physically  exhausted,  and 
his  brain  had  hardly  rested  for  the  past  twenty-four 
hours. 

It  generally  made  him  feel  better  to  come  in 
here  for  a  while  and  look  out  over  the  landscape  he 
loved. 

There  at  his  feet  lay  the  Custom  House,  its  acute- 
angled  roof  just  on  a  level  with  the  church  founda- 
tions. Down  in  the  office  there  sat  Old  Poulsen  at 
one  window  and  Wassermann  himself  at  the  other. 
Funny  thing,  really,  that  Poulsen  should  be  called 
Old  Poulsen,  for  the  sake  of  the  few  grey  hairs  about 
his  ears — he  was  an  infant,  really,  compared  with 
Wassermann. 

How  old  could  Wassermann  be  ?  Some  said 
eighty-eight,  but,  looking  at  his  mummy-face,  one 
might  feel  more  inclined  to  think  he  had  stood  as  a 
man  in  the  prime  of  life,  wearing  his  gold-braided 
cap,  what  time  Noah's  Ark  had  landed  on  Mount 
Ararat,  and  he  had  come  to  examine  the  ship's 
papers. 

Egholm  gave  a  little  grunt. 

There  was  but  a  single  vessel  in  the  harbour — a 
schooner,  laid  up  for  the  winter.  Its  masts  looked 
thin  and,  as  it  were,  leafless,  with  the  sails  and  rigging 
taken  down.  The  boys  had  built  themselves  a  snow 
hut  out  on  the  ice  under  its  bowsprit.     The  current 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  247 

of  the  Belt  was  too  strong  just  here  for  the  ice  to 
hold  it  altogether  in  check  ;  a  little  farther  north, 
there  had  been  a  battle  between  the  two,  and  the 
ice  had  lost.  Mighty  sheets  of  it  came  floating  down 
the  channel ;  off  the  mole,  they  packed  and  closed 
in  an  angry  whirl,  setting  their  teeth  in  the  piles, 
but  were  torn  away  ruthlessly  and  sent  on  southward 
again. 

In  the  curve  of  the  channel  between  the  black 
woods,  the  ice-floes  looked  like  a  flock  of  white 
swans  on  a  blue  lake.  The  grey-green  line  of  hills 
on  the  Jutland  side  looked  far  away  in  the  misty  air, 
though  the  distance  was  not  so  great  but  that  one 
could  count  the  windows  of  the  ferry  station  over 
between  the  trees. 

Egholm's  brain  had  rested  for  just  the  space  of 
time  it  took  to  turn  his  head  from  right  to  left  and 
back  again.  Now  it  began  hammering  again  ;  he 
had  caught  sight  of  a  certain  green-painted  dinghy 
down  by  the  harbour,  and  that  particular  craft 
interested  him  more  than  all  the  other  rowing  boats 
in  the  world. 

But — in  Heaven's  name — how  was  he  to  gain 
possession  ? 

He  rose,  and  went  down  into  the  coal-cellar  of 
the  church,  where  he  commenced  to  pray.  His 
thoughts  were  confused  with  excitement,  he  did  not 
understand  his  own  words,  and  when  he  stood  up 
again,  the  coals  came  rattling  down  with  a  sound 


248  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

as  of  scornful  laughter.  Could  a  man  go  to  the  devil 
and  get  hold  of  fifty  kroner  that  way  ? 

Or,  could  not  a  man  settle  the  business  himself, 
by  his  own  unaided  power  ?  Why  this  constant 
begging  round  ? 

Egholm  walked  out  of  the  churchyard,  talking  to 
himself,  and  took  the  road  to  Kongeskoven — thus 
completing  the  whole  circuit  of  the  town  and  neigh- 
bourhood for  that  day. 

All  his  inventions,  were  they  of  no  more  value 
when  it  came  to  the  point  than  that  he  must  die  of 
hunger?  Surely  there  should  be  some  appreciation 
of  them — at  any  rate,  in  higher  quarters.  He  thought 
of  some  of  the  more  important  ;  not  mere  ideas  he 
had  busied  himself  with  to  pass  the  time,  shaking 
them  out  of  his  sleeve  like  a  conjurer,  but  those  that 
were  really  worth  something,  say,  a  million. 

As,  for  instance,  the  pair  of  frictionless  wheels 
for  railway  carriages — that  should  have  meant  an 
income  to  the  inventor  out  of  every  pair  of  wheels  in 
all  the  world,  if  only  God  had  lifted  a  little  finger  to 
help. 

And  then  that  preparation  of  his  for  turning 
yellow  bricks  red — a  profit  of  several  kroner  per 
thousand  of  bricks  ! 

There  was  Egholm's  smoke-consumer,  that  would 
make  the  atmosphere  of  great  cities  as  pure  as  the 
purest  sea  air. 

There  was  .  .  .  but,  no  ;  it  was  enough.     These 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  249 

three  supreme  inventions  of  his  were  in  themselves 
sufficient  to  condemn  that  God  up  there  ! 

Plainly,  God  was  not  disposed  to  help  :  He  kept 
down  genius  out  of  sheer  envy. 

Egholm  walked  into  the  woods,  beating  his  breast 
and  threatening  high  Heaven.  Once  he  happened 
to  strike  himself  on  the  mouth,  and  this  set  his 
thoughts  off  in  an  entirely  new  direction,  where 
they  tore  away  even  more  furiously,  and  flung  them- 
selves cascading  into  headlong  depths. 

The  blow  had  reminded  him  of  that  last  affair 
with  Anna— yesterday  morning,  was  it,  or  the  day 
before  ? 

"  It's  a  lie  !  "  he  hissed,  kicking  at  a  root.  "  A 
downright  lie,  fostered  in  a  venomous  woman's 
brain.  Her  nose  came  on  to  bleed,  that  was  all. 
Just  an  ordinary  case  of  nose-bleeding,  that  happened 
to  come  on  at  the  same  time.  But,  of  course,  she  made 
the  most  of  it.  I  didn't  do  anything  worse  than  " — 
here  he  lashed  out  with  his  stick — "  other  days,  but 
then  she  starts  screaming  hysterically,  and  there's  the 
blood  trickling  down  through  her  fingers.  Ugly — 
horrible.  .  .  ." 

What  was  that  ? 

Egholm  came  to  a  standstill  in  the  middle  of  the 
path,  and  looked  round  with  staring  eyes. 

What  was  this  ?  Was  he  to  be  haunted  now,  in 
broad  dayHght  ?  Surely  it  might  at  least  have  the 
decency  to  wait  till  night  ? 


250  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

No  ;  it  was  here.  The  same  old  story  from  his 
sleepless  nights ;  the  fights  with  Anna  over  again. 
Every  word  that  had  been  spoken  between  them. 
And  then,  at  the  decisive  moment — the  loved  and 
detested  face  of  Clara  Steen  rising  up  to  take  the 
blows — Clara's  white  fingers  vainly  trying  to  stop 
that  crimson  stream.  .  .  .  Clara's  eyes,  looking  at 
him.  .  .  . 

"  I  must  be  ill,  I  think,"  he  murmured  to  himself. 
"  And  there's  a  nasty  pain  here  in  the  middle  of  my 
chest.  Throbbing  and  throbbing  like  anything. 
Not  quite  in  the  middle,  though — no,  a  little  to 
the  left." 

He  burst  out  into  a  wild  laugh  and  beat  his  fore- 
head with  the  back  of  his  hand. 

Not  so  strange,  after  all,  that  it  should  be  more 
to  the  left.  The  heart  was  on  the  left  side.  Ha  ha  ! 
yes,  he  was  a  witty  fellow,  after  all  ! 

But  the  drama  was  still  going  on  before  his  eyes. 
Oh,  but  he  would  not  see  it.  No,  no — not  here  in 
the  daytime.  For  the  love  of  God,  let  the  curtain 
fall !  Leave  it  till  the  night,  when  all  sorts  of  things 
happened  anyway,  beyond  understanding.  Here,  in 
the  middle  of  the  road,  he  could  not  go  smashing 
pictures  in  broad  daylight.  It  was  too  much  to 
ask. 

And — well,  he  was  ready  to  admit,  if  that  would 
help  at  all,  that  it  wasn't  just  ordinary  nosc-blccding. 
No,  Heaven  help  him,  he  had  struck  her  with  all  his 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  251 

force  right  across  nose  and  mouth.  Well,  then, 
now  he  had  confessed.     Wasn't  that  enough  ? 

Where  was  the  sense  of  being  an  inventor  and 
a  natural  healer,  if  he  could  not  find  a  pain-killer  for 
his  own  case  ? 

Still,  perhaps  he  might,  after  all.  Suppose,  now, 
he  were  to  make  one  smart  cut  and  tear  that  beating 
heart  right  out,  all  would  be  well. 

Next  moment  he  sawed  the  fancy  across  with  a 
grin.     Ugh  !   poetic  nonsense  ! 

No — but  there  was  something  else — something 
far  better.  .  .  . 

Here,  close  by,  must  be  Frucdammcn,  the  Lady 
Pool,  where  a  noble  dame  had  once  disappeared  in 
her  bridal  chariot  with  all  eight  horses.  Surely  it 
would  make  things  easier  to  get  down  deep  into 
that  ? 

Aha  !     Good  old  inventor — never  at  a  loss  ! 

He  hung  his  stick  over  his  arm  and  folded  his 
hands. 

"  Forgive  me,  Heavenly  Father,  for  this  once — 
for  just  this  once." 

Some  critical  self  within  himself  marked  the 
words  as  lisping  and  ridiculous. 

He  ran  at  a  stumbling  trot  along  the  ground 
over  the  serpentine  contortions  of  the  great  beech 
roots.  It  could  not  be  more  than  a  minute's  walk 
to  the  pool.     But  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost. 

Curious,  by  the  way,  that  a  man  should  for  close 


252  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

on  fifty  years  have  clung  to  life  tooth  and  nail,  and 
now,  to-day,  on  Christmas  Eve,  be  hurrying  to  get 
rid  of  it. 

What  would  they  say  to  it  all  at  home  ? 

Would  Hedvig  stand  up  straight  and  stiff  and  say, 
"  A  good  thing,  too  "  ? 

And  Emanuel,  the  child  of  victory,  what  would 
be  his  future  ?  Ah,  well,  there  was  little  victory  to 
be  expected  there,  after  all.  No,  that  turbine  was 
the  true  victory  child. 

Farewell,  smooth  round  thing,  that  should  have 
gone  one  day  with  a  soft  "  dut-dut,"  while  all  the 
world  shouted  hurrah  and  wept  at  the  same  moment. 

Egholm  found  himself  weeping  at  the  thought, 
and  his  legs  grew  weak  under  him,  but  he  kept  up 
his  pace,  and  took  a  last  evasive  mental  farewell  of 
Anna  as  he  went. 

Now,  just  across  to  the  other  side  of  the  road — 
here  it  was. 

There  was  a  little  low  seat  with  many  initials 
cut  in.  Egholm  ran  round  it,  swept  past  a  thorn- 
bush,  tearing  his  face  against  the  branches,  and 
stood  breathing  heavily  on  the  brink  of  the  bottom- 
less pool  in  the  forest. 

A  chill  shudder  passed  through  him.  His  head 
sank  forward.  A  moment  after  he  gave  a  queer 
little  laugh,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  then  staggered 
up  to  a  tree  and  leaned  against  it. 

On  the  farther  side  of  the  pool,  a  blackbird  was 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  253 

rustling  in  the  leaves;  now  it  flew  off  with  a  long 
whistling  cry.  It  was  a  little  past  noon.  Now  and 
again  a  draggled  ray  of  sunlight  slipped  through  the 
covering  of  clouds,  and  the  branches  threw  pale 
shadows  in  its  gleam.  Only  a  second  they  remained, 
then  vanished  again  like  spirits. 

Egholm  felt  his  knees  sinking — he  was  deadly 
tired.  Then,  at  the  sound  of  a  cart  crushing  through 
the  wood  far  away,  he  drew  himself  up  with  a  sigh 
and  walked  off  among  the  trees. 

The  blood  began  pulsing  in  long  swells  through 
his  veins,  following  on  his  excitement,  but  there 
was  no  pain  anywhere  now.  He  had  a  nice  strong 
feeling  of  having  been  honest. 

He  murmured  a  few  words  of  Sivert's  oracular 
speech  that  had  stuck  in  his  mind  : 

"  It's  ever  so  hard  to  do  a  thing  when  it's  im- 
possible." 

Suppose  he  tried  laughing  a  little  at  the  whole 
thing.  He  had  hurried  to  the  pool — and  lo,  the  ice 
was  Heaven  knows  how  many  inches  thick.  Of 
course,  it  was.  Still,  he  had  been  honest — God  was 
his  witness  to  that.  It  must  have  been  the  open 
water  of  the  Belt  that  made  him  forget. 

It  was  evening  before  he  found  himself  back, 
wiping  his  shoes  carefully  and  gently  in  the  passage. 
So  unwontedly  gentle  was  he,  indeed,  that  Anna 
came  out  in  a  fright  with  the  lamp  to  see  who  was 
there. 


254  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

"  Oh,  heavens,  is  it  you,  Eghohn  ?  We've  been 
almost  out  ot  our  wits  because  you  didn't  come  back. 
Wherever  have  you  been  all  day  ?  " 

She  rubbed  his  wet  things  with  a  towel,  and  told 
of  the  joint  of  pork  that  had  come  from  the  Christmas 
Charity  Committee,  and  the  cakes  that  Hedvig  had 
brought  home. 

She  rubbed  away,  chattering  all  the  time,  mention- 
ing casually  what  a  blessing  it  was  Sivert  had  got 
that  place  with  the  glazier's — to  have  his  own  room 
and  all.  She  stopped,  astounded  at  her  own  bold- 
ness in  daring  to  utter  Sivert's  name. 

But  Eghohn  made  no  sound,  and  she  went  on, 
scraping  the  mud  from  his  boots  the  while,  to  tell 
liow  she  had  just  happened  to  think  of  Nockel,  the 
glazier,  if  he  might  happen  to  want  a  boy,  and  she 
had  hardly  got  inside  the  door  when  they  said  yes, 
and  were  glad  to  have  him. 

"  He  can  stay  here  this  evening — if  you  like," 
said  his  father. 

Fru  Egholm  could  hardly  believe  her  ears,  and 
Sivert,  carefully  hidden  away  in  the  pantry,  fancied, 
too,  that  there  must  be  something  queer  behind  it  all. 

"  Don't  somehow  feel  like  being  thrashed  to-day, 
either,"  he  said,  darkly  reflecting. 

So  the  Egholms  had  some  sort  of  a  Christmas, 
after  all.  The  gentler  feelings  flourished  in  every 
heart.  Egholm  himself  gave  orders  that  Marinus 
from  the  carpenter's  shop  should  be  sent  for,  having 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  255 

found  him  gazing  longingly  in  through  a  window. 
On  Christmas  Eve,  it  was  a  duty  to  entertain  the 
poor  at  one's  table,  he  said,  if  one  wanted  to  feel 
any  Christmas  rejoicing  oneself.  His  wife  found  this 
a  very  pretty  sentiment,  with  the  one  reservation  that 
the  principle,  to  her  mind,  was  followed  out  to  an 
extreme  degree  in  their  case,  since  the  five  who  were 
daily  entertained  at  their  board  were  undeniably 
poor  themselves. 

Later  in  the  evening,  she  went  to  the  window, 
and  with  a  certain  awkwardness  brought  over  the 
champagne  blossom  and  set  it  on  a  chair  in  the  middle 
of  the  room  with  a  candle  in  front.  Anyone  could 
see  it  was  meant  to  be  a  Christmas  tree,  all  ready 
decked.  Marinus  giggled  at  Sivert,  but  Hedvig  rose 
of  her  own  accord,  stepped  out  into  their  midst  like 
an  actress,  and  sang  till  the  windows  rattled  about 
sweet  and  joyous  Christmastide. 

"  Now  we  ought  to  hand  round  the  presents," 
said  Fru  Egholm  to  Marinus,  with  a  laugh. 

Egholm  joined  absently  in  the  laugh.  He  had 
a  vague  idea  of  having  already  received  a  Christmas 
present  that  was  worth  something. 

He  had  been  given  back  his  life. 

And  that  v^as,  after  all,  a  thing  of  some  import- 
ance, if  he  was  ever  to  get  that  turbine  done. 


XIX 

AFTER  a  cruel  winter  came  the  spring  at  last, 
offering  gentle  hands  to  all  mankind.  Folk 
might  be  seen  walking  in  the  streets,  hat  in 
hand,  in  gratitude  and  veneration  towards  the  bright, 
happy  face  of  the  sun. 

It  was  much  the  same  with  the  flowers ;  they 
came  forth  in  hosts  from  out  of  the  earth,  saw  the 
sun,  and  bowed. 

The  beech,  knowing  its  flowers  were  nothing  to 
speak  of,  put  on  its  pale  green  silk  first  thing  in  the 
morning,  and  found  no  reason  to  be  ashamed,  but 
the  apple  tree  surpassed  them  all  ;  it  had  to  put  on 
its  bridal  dress  with  a  blush. 

Fru  Egholm  left  the  kitchen  window  open  all 
day  long.  A  branch  from  Andreasen's  espalier,  an 
apple  branch  of  all  things,  thrust  itself  up  across  the 
opening.  It  was  almost  her  property,  so  to  speak, 
that  apple  branch.  She  showed  Emanuel  how  the 
bees  came  flying  up,  whispered  something  sweet  into 
the  ears  of  the  little  flower  things,  and  were  given 
honeyed  kisses  in  return  before  flying  off  again. 

Fru  Egholm  did  more  than  that  for  her  little 
boy  ;  she  got  Hedvig  to  take  him  out  every  afternoon 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  257 

into  the  meadow  near  by.  He  came  home  with  a 
chain  of  dandelion  stalks  round  his  neck,  and  one 
day  he  even  had  a  dead  butterfly  in  his  clammy 
little  fist.  That  day,  he  could  hardly  speak  for  the 
wonders  he  had  seen. 

Spring  came  to  Egholm,  too.  He  had  got  his 
boat — the  very  green  one  he  had  prayed  for.  Vang 
had  procured  it  for  him,  by  some  means  unknown. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  my  old  and  trusted  friend,  let 
me  make  you  a  present  of  it.  Here  you  are,  the  boat 
is  yours,  presented  by  a  circle  of  friends." 

And  the  pair  overflowed  in  a  transport  of  mutual 
affection. 

The  boiler  was  already  in  its  place,  and  the  funnel 
towered  proudly  above,  painted  a  fine  bold  red. 
The  screw  stuck  out  behind,  and  could  revolve 
when  turned  by  hand.     All  looked  well,  so  far. 

But  the  turbine  itself,  the  beating  heart  that  was 
to  make  the  thing  alive,  was  not  yet  finished. 

Krogh,  the  old  blacksmith,  worked  away  at  it  till 
his  yellow  drooping  jaws  shook.  His  tools  were 
mediaeval.  What  a  machine  drill  could  have 
managed  in  an  afternoon,  he  took  a  week  to  do. 
Egholm  turned  up  his  eyes  to  heaven,  when  he  saw 
how  little  had  been  done  in  twenty-four  hours,  but 
he  said  nothing.  The  fact  was,  that  Krogh  had  one 
quality  which  rendered  him  more  valuable  than  all 
other  blacksmiths  together  :  he  was  willing  to  work 
without  seeing  the  money  first.  Moreover,  his  work 
17 


258  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

was  good  when  it  was  done,  and  in  spite  of  his  sour 
looks,  he  took  a  real  interest  in  the  project. 

Egholm  was  so  kindly  and  easy  to  get  on  with  all 
that  spring  that  his  wife  was  quite  uneasy  about 
him  at  times.  All  the  hours  he  could  spare  from  his 
studio — and  they,  alas,  were  not  a  few — he  spent 
down  on  the  beach,  scraping  and  patching  and 
painting  his  wonderful  creation. 

At  home,  he  would  sit  dreaming  in  the  arm-chair, 
so  far  removed  from  all  reality  that  Emanuel  might 
sing  and  prattle  as  much  as  he  pleased  without 
being  stopped  by  a  peremptory  order  from  his 
father. 

He  was  sitting  thus  one  evening  towards  the  end 
of  May  ;  both  Emanuel  and  Hedvig  were  asleep. 
The  day  had  been  hot,  and  the  heat  still  hung  in  the 
low-ceiled  rooms.  The  children  were  tossing  rest- 
lessly in  their  beds.  If  only  one  dared  to  open  a 
window — but  no  ;  the  night  air  was  a  thing  to  be 
careful  about,  while  there  were  children  in  the  place, 
thought  Fru  Egholm  to  herself.  It  was  late,  very 
late,  but  what  did  that  matter,  as  long  as  there  was 
oil  enough  in  the  lamp? 

"  Whatever  are  you  sitting  there  thinking  about?  " 
she  asked,  when  the  silence  had  lasted  an  eternity. 
There  was  not  the  slightest  danger  now  in  such  a 
piece  of  familiarity  on  her  part.  Not  as  he  had  been 
lately. 

"  Nothing,"  said  Egholm,  drawing  in  his  breath 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  259 

as  if  he  had  just  emerged  from  the  depths  of  the  sea. 
"  What's  that  you're  fussing  about  now  ?  " 

"  Wassermann's  wig.  Look  at  it — it's  simply 
falling  to  pieces.  But  as  for  a  new  one — well,  you 
should  have  seen  his  wife's  face  when  I  spoke  of  it. 
And  if  it  hadn't  been  that  there's  a  chance  they 
might  take  Hedvig  as  maid  there,  I'd  never  .  .  ." 

"  What  d'you  get  for  a  bit  of  work  like  that  ?  " 

"  Well,  it  ought  to  be  a  krone^  but  seventy-five 
ere  I  will  have,  and  that's  the  least.  Though  I  don't 
suppose  she'll  offer  me  more  than  fifty,  the  stingy  old 
wretch." 

Egholm  sat  silent  a  while,  then  involuntarily  he 
lied  a  little.  "  I'll  tell  you,"  he  said,  "  what  I  was 
thinking  about.  You  know  that  verse  from  ''Adam 
Homo  ' : 

"  '  What  trouble's  worst  ?     We've  trials  enough,  Lord  knows 
If  I  should  ask,  a  score  of  voices  swift 
Would  tell  me  where  they  found  the  "  little  rift  " 
Each  as  experience  led  him  to  suppose. 
One  says  'tis  boredom,  one,  'tis  married  life  ; 
Another  finds  it  worse  without  a  wife. 
One  thinks  remorsefully  of  sins  committed, 
Another  with  regret  of  those  omitted. 
One,  of  all  pains  we've  suffered  since  the  Fall, 
Will  reckon  Money  Troubles  worst  of  all.' 

Yes,  money  troubles — that's  the  worst.  Paludan 
Miiller,  he  knew.  And  he's  my  favourite  poet. 
He  knew  everything  !  " 

And  Egholm  fell  to  talking  pitifully  of  poverty, 


26o  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

the  nightmare  that  had  its  teeth  in  his  throat,  and 
could  not  be  torn  away. 

"  But  there's  more  comes  after,"  said  Anna, 
when  he  paused.  "  Don't  you  remember  the  next 
verse  ?  " 

"  I  know  the  whole  thing  oflF  by  heart.  Any- 
where you  like  to  choose." 

"  Well,  then,  you  know  that  money  troubles 
aren't  the  worst  in  the  world.  It's  no  good  losing 
courage  like  that.  And  we're  getting  on  nicely  now, 
really.  Etatsraaden  said  about  the  rhubarb,  we 
might  .  .  ." 

She  put  forth  all  her  womanly  arts  to  comfort 
him,  but  in  vain.  Still  she  kept  on — and  her  voice 
was  much  the  same  as  when  she  was  soothing 
Emanuel. 

Egholm  let  her  go  on  ;  yes,  they  were  getting 
on  nicely  now,  he  thought  to  himself,  and  smiled 
bitterly.     Oh  yes,  nicely,  magnificently  ! 

The  globe  of  the  lamp  was  stuck  together  with 
strips  of  newspaper.  Before  the  window  hung  a 
piece  of  faded  green  stuff  in  two  tapes,  drooping 
down  to  a  slack  fold  in  the  middle.  At  the  sides 
were  ragged,  dusty  curtains,  into  which  Anna  had 
stuck  some  paper  flowers. 

On  the  walls  were  a  couple  of  old  engravings,  an 
embroidered  newspaper-holder  of  his  wife's,  and  a 
few  fretwork  brackets  and  photograph  frames,  these 
being  Sivcrt's  work. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  261 

The  big  mirror,  too,  looked  ridiculous,  really,  at 
that  angle — it  had  to  be  slanted  forward  to  an  ex- 
cessive degree,  owing  to  the  lowness  of  the  room. 
Egholm  could  see  himself  in  it,  and  the  children's 
bed  as  well.  Emanuel  lay  on  the  settee,  but  Hedvig's 
bed,  in  the  little  side  room,  consisted  of  three  chairs. 
Her  coverlet  was  his  old  uniform  cloak,  and  the 
chairs  rocked  at  every  breath  she  drew. 

Poverty  in  every  corner.  The  very  pattern  of 
the  wallpaper  was  formed  of  holes  and  patches  of 
damp. 

True,  there  were  the  two  arm-chairs  and  the 
chest  of  drawers,  but  .  .  . 

His  wife  was  still  talking  away  of  all  the  good 
things  they  had  to  be  thankful  for.  Of  Hedvig, 
coming  home  regularly  with  her  good  wages,  and 
the  chance  now  of  getting  a  place  at  ten  kroner,  at 
Wassermann's.  And  then  Sivert,  still  at  the  glazier's 
this  ever  so  long.  Surely  it  was  a  mercy  they  could 
be  proud  of  their  children  ? 

And  soon  Egholm  himself  would  have  finished 
that  steamboat  thing  of  his.  .  .  .  Fru  Egholm  threw 
out  this  last  by  some  chance,  having  exhausted  all 
other  items  that  could  reasonably  be  included. 

Her  husband  started.  It  was  what  he  had  been 
thinking  of  all  the  evening  himself.  But,  anxious 
not  to  betray  the  fact,  he  said  only  : 

"  Yes ;  if  I'm  lucky." 

But  Anna  saw  through  him  all  the  same.     Stupid 


262  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

of  her  not  to  have  thought  before  of  the  one  thing 
that  was  all  the  world  to  him. 

"  And  why  shouldn't  you  be  lucky,  I  should  like 
to  know  ?  You  haven't  lost  faith  in  your  own 
invention  ?  " 

"  It's  a  curious  thing,"  he  said,  leaning  back  in 
his  chair.  "  One  moment  I  believe  in  it,  and  the 
next  I  don't.  How  is  it  possible  that  the  trained 
experts  with  all  modern  equipment  at  their  backs — 
and  money,  most  of  all — with  nothing  to  worry  about 
but  their  own  calculations  and  plans — how  could 
they  have  missed  the  solution  of  the  problem  when 
it  seems  to  me  as  plain  as  the  nose  on  your  face  ?  " 

"  Why,  as  to  that,  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure.  But 
that  steam  cart  you  made,  you  know,  just  before 
Hedvig  was  born,  that  didn't  work." 

"  Oh,  what's  that  got  to  do  with  it  ? "  said  Egholm 
irritably. 

His  wife  pointed  warningly  towards  the  sleeping 
children.  "  Sh  !  "  she  said.  Then,  noticing  that 
the  cloak  had  slipped  down  from  Hedvig's  legs,  she 
hastened  to  tuck  it  up  again.  Egholm  calmed 
down. 

"  Don't  mix  up  a  steam  cart  and  a  turbine,"  he 
said  when  she  re-entered  the  room.  "  I  didn't  take 
any  particular  trouble  over  that  steam  cart — at  any 
rate,  not  enough.  After  all,  it  was  only  construction 
work,  that.  But  a  turbine  that  can  reverse — that's 
an  independent  invention.     I'd  give  my  heart's  blood 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  263 

to  realise  it.  You  know  what  a  friction  coupling  is, 
I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  the  thing  with  the  two  balls,  that 
swing  round  and  look  like  an  umbrella  ?  " 

*'  Good  heavens,  no  !  You're  thinking  of  a 
centrifugal  regulator  valve." 

"  Oh  well,  well,  then  .  .  ." 

No,  it  was  no  use  talking  to  her  ;  she  muddled 
up  the  simplest  things  imaginable.  Egholm  wrung 
his  hands  and  was  silent. 

But  a  little  after,  he  looked  up  brightly  and 
suggested  they  should  go  and  have  a  look  at  the 
machinery  now,  both  together. 

Anna  shook  her  head.     What  an  idea  ! 

"  Aren't  you  a  bit  interested  in  my  things  ?  " 

"  Why,  that  you  know  I  am,  Egholm.  But  you 
wouldn't  ask  me  to  go  running  out  now  in  the  middle 
of  the  night.     Look,  it's  half-past  one  !  " 

"  But  you  say  you  never  can  go  out  in  the  day- 
time." 

This  was  true  ;  Anna  never  set  foot  outside  the 
door  as  long  as  it  was  light.  Her  dress  had  been 
ruined  altogether  this  winter,  from  having  to  use  it 
for  Emanuel's  bedclothes  at  night.  And  what  was 
the  use  of  having  rooms  across  a  courtyard,  when 
Andreasen's  workmen  came  running  to  the  window 
every  time  they  heard  the  door  ? 

"  But  the  lamp  might  upset,  and  the  house  burn 
down  and  the  children  in  it." 


264  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

"  Turn  it  out,  then,  of  course.  Don't  talk  such 
a  lot." 

Fru  Egholm  writhed  ;  there  was  no  persuading 
him  any  way  once  he  had  taken  a  thing  into  his 
head. 

Hesitatingly  she  took  out  a  white  knitted  kerchief 
from  a  drawer.  She  had  almost  forgotten  what  it 
was  like  to  put  on  one's  things  to  go  out.  .  .  . 

It  was  moonlight  outside  ;  the  shadow  of  the 
tall  workshop  roof  lay  coal-black  over  half  the  court- 
yard, leaving  the  remainder  white  as  if  it  had  been 
lime-washed. 

Every  step  she  took  seemed  new  and  strange. 
So  softly  their  steps  fell  in  the  thick  dust  as  they 
crossed  the  road. 

Up  in  the  old  churchyard,  every  tree  stood  like 
a  temple  of  perfume  in  the  quiet,  soft  night.  And 
all  the  time,  she  was  marvelling  that  it  really  was 
moonlight.  She  had  not  noticed  it  at  home — doubt- 
less because  the  lamp  was  burning. 

The  tears  came  into  her  eyes — just  such  a  moon- 
light night  it  had  been  the  time  they  .  .  . 

And  here  she  was  walking  with  him,  just  as  then. 

Surely,  it  was  enough  to  turn  one's  head. 

Here  was  Egholm  actually  taking  her  arm. 
Taking  her  arm  !  .  .  . 

Great  moths  and  small  glided  silently  past ;  one 
of  them  vanished  into  the  hedge  as  if  by  magic. 

Bats  showed  up  here  and  there  against  the  pale 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  265 

sky,  flung  about  like  leaves  in  the  wind.  From  the 
meadow  came  a  quivering  chorus  of  a  thousand 
frogs. 

"  It  must  be  like  this  in  Paradise,"  she  said  faintly. 

"  Ah,  wait  till  you  can  see  the  boat,"  said  her 
husband. 

The  dew  on  the  thick  grass  down  by  the  beach 
soaked  through  her  boots  and  stockings.  Moon- 
light and  stockings  wet  with  dew.  .  .  .  Oh,  it  was 
not  just  like  that  time  now  ;  it  was  that  time  .  .  . 
that  night  at  Aalborg,  after  the  dance  at  the  assembly 
rooms,  where  she  had  met  the  interesting  young 
photographer — the  pale  one,  as  they  called  him — 
and  let  herself  be  tempted  to  go  out  for  a  walk  in 
the  woods  after.  And  Thea,  her  sister,  who  was 
with  them,  had  almost  pinched  her  arm  black  and 
blue  in  her  excitement.  But  it  had  to  be  ;  he 
was  irresistible,  with  his  foreign-looking  appearance, 
his  silver-mounted  stick,  and  his  smartly  creaking 
calfskin  boots. 

He  had  not  danced  himself,  by  the  way,  but  sat 
majestically  apart  drinking  his  tea. 

But  how  he  could  talk  !  Until  one  hardly  knew 
if  it  was  real  or  all  a  dream.  .  .  . 

It  was  light  when  she  pulled  off  her  soaking  wet 
stockings  and  her  sodden  dancing  shoes. 

Yes,  it  must  be  some  good  angel  that  had  put 
back  the  clock  of  time  to-night.  Here  she  was, 
walking  in  the  woods  of  Aalborg  with  her  lover. 


266  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

There  was  the  fjord,  and  the  moon  drawing  a  silvery- 
path  right  to  her  feet.     Come,  come  ! 

She  gazed  with  dimmed  eyes  towards  the  wondrous 
ball  in  the  heavens,  that  called  up  tides  in  the  seas 
and  in  hearts  ;  she  clung  trustingly  to  her  friend's 
arm.  And,  glancing  at  him  sideways,  she  saw  that 
his  eyes  were  looking  out  towards  it  too.  Yes,  their 
glances  moved  together,  taking  the  same  road  out 
over  the  gliding  waters  of  the  Belt,  in  through  a  gate 
of  clouds,  to  kneel  at  the  full  moon,  that  is  the  God 
of  Fools. 

A  startled  bird  rose  at  their  feet  and  flew,  the  air 
rushing  audibly  in  its  feathers. 

"  Listen — a  lark !  And  singing  now,  though  it's 
night  !  " 

"  A  lark  !  "  Egholrn  took  this,  too,  as  an  omen  of 
good  fortune  for  his  turbine. 

At  the  foot  of  the  slope  lay  the  boat,  drawn  up  on 
land  with  props  against  the  sides. 

He  explained  it  all,  the  parts  that  were  there  and 
the  rest  that  should  be  added  as  soon  as  Krogh  had 
got  the  turbine  finished.  He  spoke  eagerly  and  dis- 
connectedly; none  but  an  expert  could  have  under- 
stood him.     But  Anna  kept  on  saying  : 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  can  understand  that,  of  course. 
Ever  so  much  better  that  way,  yes.  And  how 
prettily  it's  painted,  the  boiler  there.  I  thought  it 
would  be  just  an  old  rusty  stove.  And  the  boat — 
why,  it's  quite  a  ship  in  itself." 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  267 

"  Beautiful  little  boat,  isn't  it  ?  "  said  Egholm,  in 
high  good  humour  now.  "  And  I've  caulked  it  all 
over.  Take  my  word  for  it,  the  natives  '11  stare  a 
bit  when  the  day  comes,  and  they  see  it  racing  away. 
Let's  sit  down  and  look  at  it  a  bit.  Here,  Anna,  just 
here." 

They  sat  down,  but  it  was  wet  in  the  tufty 
grass. 

"  We  can  climb  up  in  the  boat  and  sit  there." 

Anna  hesitated  at  first,  but  soon  gave  way.  After 
all,  everything  was  topsy-turvy  already  ;  she  hardly 
knew  if  she  were  awake  or  dreaming.  Egholm  turned 
up  an  old  bucket.  "  Here  !  "  and  he  offered  his  hand 
like  a  polite  cavalier  and  helped  her  up. 

The  summer  night  was  all  about  them.  The 
lapping  of  the  waves  sounded  now  near,  now  far  ;  it 
was  like  delicate  footsteps.  For  a  little  while  neither 
spoke. 

"  But — you're  not  crying,  Anna,  dear  ?  "  He 
had  felt  her  shoulders  quivering. 

"  We've  been  so  far  away  from  each  other  ; 
strangers  like,"  she  sniffed.  And  then  she  broke 
down  completely.  "  Anna,  dear,"  he  had  said. 
"  Far  away  from  each  other.  ...  I  don't  see 
how  .  .  .  Seems  to  me  we've  been  seeing  each 
other  all  day  the  same  as  usual." 

"  Oh,  but — we  haven't  talked  together  for  an  hour 
like  we  are  now,  not  really,  all  the  time  we've  been 
here." 


268  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

"  Well,  what  should  we  talk  about  ?  You  don't 
generally  take  any  interest  in  my  things.  And, 
besides,  living  as  we  do  in  a  hell  of  poverty  .  .  ." 

"  But  that's  just  the  reason  why  we  ought  to  have 
helped  each  other.  It  would  have  made  everything 
easier  if  we  had." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know.  .  .  .  But,  anyhow,  there's 
never  been  any  difficulty  on  my  part,  I'm  sure." 
Egholm  spoke  throughout  with  the  same  slight 
touch  of  surprise.  Really,  she  was  getting  too 
unreasonable. 

There  was  nothing  for  it  now — she  must  say 
it. 

"  You've  struck  me  many  a  time  in  the  two  years 
we've  been  living  here."  She  stopped  in  fright  at 
her  own  words,  then  hastened  to  add  :  "  But  I  know 
you  don't  mean  any  harm,  of  course." 

"  Then  why  do  you  bother  about  it  ?  "  he  said,  in 
the  same  tone  as  before.  But  a  moment  later, 
before  she  could  answer,  he  got  up,  reached  out  as  if 
to  swing  himself  out  of  the  boat,  then  sat  down  again 
and  shook  his  head. 

"  Struck  you  ?  "  he  said  plaintively.  "  Have  I 
really  struck  you  ?  " 

He  did  not  expect  an  answer,  but  asked  the  same 
question  again,  all  the  same.  He  fumbled  for  her 
hand  under  her  apron,  and  stroked  it  again  and 
again. 

"  Have  I  really  struck  you  ?  " 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  269 

Then  he  drew  back  his  hand  again,  and  shook  his 
head  once  more. 

Anna  was  deeply  moved.  The  single  caress 
seemed  to  her  like  the  sunlight  and  the  scent  of 
flowers  that  came  in  through  the  kitchen  window  in 
the  morning,  before  the  others  were  awake.  Her 
heart  swelled  up  within  her,  and  her  tears  poured 
down  as  she  put  her  arms  round  him  and  begged  him 
to  forget  what  she  had  said.  She  lost  sight  of  the 
starting-point  altogether,  and  behaved  like  a  penitent 
sinner  herself. 

"  Forgive  me,  do  say  you  forgive  me.  Say 
you'll  forget  it.  Oh,  don't  make  me  miserable  now 
because  it  slipped  out  like  that  !  You're  so  good, 
so  good.  .  .  ." 

White  banks  of  mist  lay  over  the  Belt,  and  away 
in  the  north-east  the  sun  was  already  preparing  to 
emerge  after  the  brief  night.  The  larks  rose  and 
fell,  singing  ;  the  gulls  called  cheerily  as  they  came 
tearing  down  after  food. 

Egholm  turned  round  several  times  to  look  back 
at  the  boat  as  they  walked  home. 

Quietly  they  stole  into  the  house.  Nothing  had 
gone  wrong  in  their  absence. 

Hedvig  awoke,  and  stared  stiffly  at  her  parents; 
then  she  yawned  and  lay  down  again.  Very  soon 
the  chairs  were  rocking  under  her  again  as  they 
should. 

Egholm   began   undressing  at   once  ;    he  looked 


270  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

tired  and  peaceful.  But  his  wife  whispered  to  say 
she  would  be  there  directly ;  only  a  few  more 
stitches  to  finish  the  work. 

And  as  she  sewed,  she  looked  with  a  smile  at  the 
spots  of  red  paint  on  her  fingers.  There,  on  the 
left  hand,  was  one  that  looked  just  like  a  ring.  That 
was  where  he  had  helped  her  up  into  the  boat. 

Who  could  sleep  after  a  night  like  that  ? 


XX 

DRAPER  LUND  and  Barber  Trane  came  walk- 
ing together  from  the  direction  of  the  town. 
Reaching  Egholm's  beach  path,  Lund  broke 
off  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence,  and  said  : 

''  Well,  I  think  I'll  go  down  this  way.  Enjoy 
the  view,  you  know.     Good-bye  !  " 

"  Why,  I  was  going  down  that  way  myself.  It's 
to-day  that  thing  was  to  start,  you  know — the 
miracle  man's  steamboat  thing." 

"  H'm.  If  it  goes  at  all."  Lund  straightened 
his  glasses  and  shot  an  unexpected  glance  of  con- 
siderable meaning  at  the  other. 

"  No,  no,  of  course.  But  it's  as  well  to  know 
how  it  went  off,  you  know,  when  customers  come  in 
and  talk  about  it." 

"  I  don't  want  to  deliver  any  definite  judgment," 
said  Lund  delicately,  as  a  very  Professor  of  Drapery, 
"  but  there  is  something  about  the  man  that  leads 
me  to  doubt.     He  talks  so  much." 

"  Yes,  and  so  mysterious  about  things.  And 
conceited,  too," 

"  Which,     with     his      dirty     vest      and      frayed 

trousers  .  .  ."  added  Lund  in  agreement, 

271 


272  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

"  I  suppose  he'll  go  sailing  round  with  it  to  show 
it  off  ?  " 

"  I  daresay  he'll  take  out  a  patent." 

"  Those  patent  things  are  never  any  good,"  said 
Trane  energetically.  He  knew.  He  had  a  patent 
pipe  at  home,  that  was  always  sour. 

Lund  and  Trane  stopped  in  surprise  when  they 
came  down  to  the  beach  and  found  how  many  others 
of  the  townsfolk  had  had  the  same  idea  of  going  down 
that  way.  Lund  made  as  if  to  turn  back,  but 
realised  that  it  was  too  late,  and  laughed  with  great 
heartiness.  And  those  on  the  spot  laughed  again 
in  perfect  comprehension — they  had  felt  exactly  the 
same  way  themselves.  One  of  them  had  made  a  long 
detour  round  by  Etatsraadcn's  garden,  and  others 
had  done  the  same  as  Lund,  walking  smartly  out  as 
if  going  a  long  way,  and  then  turning  off  suddenly, 
as  if  by  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  towards  the 
beach. 

Well,  Herregud!  here  they  were.  And,  anyhow, 
it  was  only  reasonable  to  take  what  fun  there  might 
be  going  these  sad  times.  There  was  not  much  in 
the  way  of  amusement  in  the  town. 

Besides,  it  was  pleasant  enough,  lying  here  in  the 
soft  dried  seaweed  and  the  warm  tickling  sand.  The 
sun  shone  over  the  Belt  and  the  green  shores  of 
Jutland  beyond.  They  could,  as  Lund  repeated 
again  and  again,  enjoy  the  view. 

He  and  Trane  joined  a  group  that  had  gathered 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  273 

for  instruction  in  steam  engines  about  the  person 
of  Lange,  the  schoolmaster. 

"  Then  there's  a  pipe  goes  here.  .  .  ."  The 
schoolmaster  pointed  to  a  certain  spot  in  the  air 
and  came  to  a  standstill.  He  was  very  nervous 
without  a  blackboard  and  his  handbook  of  physics 
to  help  him  out.  And  now  here  were  those  two 
unpleasant  characters,  Lund  and  Trane,  lounging  up 
in  the  middle  of  the  lesson. 

"  A  pipe  goes  there  .  .  .  and  that  leads  to  the 
cylinder  here.  .  .  ."  He  raised  his  voice  and  pointed 
again. 

Trane,  anxious  to  see  as  much  as  possible,  craned 
his  neck  to  follow  the  direction  of  Lange's  index 
finger,  but  perceived,  to  his  surprise,  nothing  more 
tangible  than  the  driving  clouds. 

He  shook  his  head.  How  could  he  tell  his 
customers  this  ?  He  gave  it  up,  and  lay  down  with 
the  others  to  bask  in  the  September  sunshine. 

Egholm's  boat  lay  some  twenty  yards  out ;  the 
shallow  water  prevented  it  from  coming  closer  in. 
It  was  white,  with  a  brilliant  red  stripe  along  the 
side.  Behind  the  red-leaded  funnel,  which  was 
supported  with  stays,  could  be  seen  curious  parts  of 
bright  metal.  Egholm  was  on  his  knees,  hat  in  hand, 
puffing  at  the  furnace.  The  fuel,  which  consisted 
of  half-rotten  fragments  of  board,  was  not  quite 
dry.  Now  and  again  he  lifted  his  head  and  gave  a 
brief  glance  towards  land. 
18 


274  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

Astonishing,  such  a  lot  of  people  had  turned  up. 
He  felt  his  responsibility  towards  them  like  a  delicious 
ache  at  his  heart. 

Oh,  it  would  turn  out  all  right. 

If  only  he  had  had  someone  to  lend  a  hand. 
Even  Sivert  would  have  been  better  than  nothing. 
Egholm  looked  across  reproachfully  at  Krogh,  the 
old  blacksmith,  who  stood  on  the  beach  with  his  jaws 
drooping  as  ever.  He  had  just  come  down  with  the 
last  bits  of  the  machine,  but  could  not  be  persuaded 
to  go  on  board.  He  dared  not  mix  with  the  rest, 
even,  for  he  was  an  accomplice  in  the  thing,  how- 
ever much  he  might  turn  up  his  nose  to  show 
disapproval. 

Well,  well,  he  would  have  to  manage  alone. 

What  was  that  ? — who  were  they  lifting  their  hats 
to  suddenly  ? 

Heavens,  if  it  wasn't  the  editor  himself  !  Egholm 
dropped  a  nut  that  slipped  away  between  the  bottom 
boards.  Perhaps,  after  all,  Anna  had  not  been  alto- 
gether lying  when  she  said  the  editor  had  called  him 
a  genius.  But  he  would  not  do  discredit  to  the  name 
— no,  he  would  take  care  of  that  ! 

Trembling  with  emotion,  Egholm  watched  the 
mighty  personage  striding  through  the  groups.  He 
always  walked  as  if  battling  his  way  forward  in  the 
teeth  of  a  gale.  Even  to-day,  when  the  water  was 
smooth  as  a  mirror,  his  flowing  cloak,  his  greyish- 
yellow    military    beard,    even   his    bushy   eyebrows, 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  275 

seemed  to  stand  away  from  him  as  if  borne  on  the 
wings  of  some  private  particular  wind  ;  possibly  one 
he  had  brought  home  with  him  from  the  battle- 
fields of  '64. 

The  onlookers  leaped  aside,  like  recruits,  to  make 
way  for  him.  His  presence  brought  sudden  en- 
couragement to  the  rest — something  would  surely 
come  of  it,  after  all.  A  good  thing  they  had  not 
stayed  at  home. 

The  editor  stopped  at  the  water's  edge,  and 
hailed  across,  with  a  voice  rent  by  the  storm  : 

"  Egholm  !  Can  you  get  done  by  six,  so  that  I 
can  have  a  line  in  the  paper  ?  " 

Egholm  tried  to  rise,  but  slipped  down  again. 
He  was  rather  cramped  for  room. 

"  I  think  so,  yes,  I  think  so  !  "  He  drew  out 
his  watch  and  looked  at  it.  A  quarter  to  nine  it 
showed  now — as  it  had  done  for  heaven  knows  how 
long  past.     "  I'll  do  my  best." 

The  editor  muttered  something,  balanced  against 
a  sudden  gust,  and  marched  off. 

But  there  were  plenty  remaining.  The  slopes  of 
the  beach  were  alive  and  noisy  as  bird-cliffs  in  the 
nesting  season. 

How  had  all  these  people  ever  managed  to  find 
their  way  to  the  spot  ?  Egholm  had  not  drummed 
about  any  announcement  as  to  time  and  place  of  his 
experiment.  He  had,  indeed,  grown  rather  more 
reticent  of  late.     And  old  Krogh  would  hardly  say 


276  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

more  than  he  need.  How  could  it  have  come 
about  ? 

The  explanation  was  there  in  the  flesh — with 
a  shawl  about  her  head  and  beautifully  varnished 
clogs  on  her  feet.  The  explanation  was  Madam 
Hermansen,  who  had  the  backstairs  entry  of  every 
house  in  Knarreby.  Whatever  was  thrown  into  her 
as  into  a  sink  at  one  place  was  gladly  used  to  wash 
up  the  coffee  cups  in  at  another.  She  smelt  a  little 
of  everything,  like  a  sewer,  and  was  as  useful  and  as 
indispensable. 

In  addition  to  this  comprehensive  occupation 
for  the  public  weal,  she  found  time  to  cherish  great 
amorous  passions  for  all  the  big  fat  men  in  the  town. 
She  walked  about,  smiling  and  confident,  from  group 
to  group,  shaking  her  hips  at  every  step,  and  sidling 
round  people  like  a  horse  preparing  to  kick. 

"  That  leg  of  yours  still  bad  ?  "  asked  little  Dr. 
Hoff. 

"  Yes,  much  the  same." 

"H'm,"  said  Hoff,  a  little  annoyed.  "Mind 
you  keep  it  clean.     That's  the  only  thing  to  do." 

"  1  suppose  it's  no  use  trying  an  earth  cure  ?  " 

"  Earth  cure  ?     What  on  earth's  that  ?  " 

"  Why,  it's  just  an  earth  cure,  that's  all.  It  was 
Egholm's  been  plaguing  me  to  try  it.  But  he  .  .  . 
well,  I'm  not  sure  his  intentions  are  really  decent  like 
and  proper.  I  know  how  he's  been  with  me  some- 
times .  .  .  and  his  poor  wife  .  .  ." 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  277 

''  What's  he  want  you  to  do  with  the  leg  ?  "  asked 
Hoff,  his  eyes  glittering  behind  his  glasses. 

"  Why,  as  sure  as  I'm  alive,  he  wants  me  to  bury 
it  in  the  ground."  Madam  Hermansen  laughed 
alarmingly. 

"  Now,  does  he  mean  ?  While  it's  on  you,  that 
is  ?  "     Hoff  blinked  again. 

"  Now,  this  moment,  if  he  could  get  me  to  do  it. 
And  then  sit  there  for  a  week,  for  the  juices  of  the 
earth  to  work  a  cure,  if  you  please." 

"  Well,  mind  you  don't  take  root,"  said  Hoflf. 
His  face  was  immobile,  save  for  his  eyes. 

"  What  ?  Yes,  and  then  all  the  worms  and  rats 
and  things  .  .  .  But  how  he  can  talk,  that  Egholm. 
Never  knew  such  a  man." 

Wassermann  from  the  Customs  House  came  down 
too,  his  galoshes  leaving  a  long  dragging  trail  in  the 
dry  sand.  Under  the  gold-braided  cap  his  red 
wig  stuck  out,  stiff  as  a  tuft  of  hay.  It  was  said  he 
had  inherited  it  from  his  father.  Be  that  as  it  may, 
he  certainly  kept  it  in  use,  wore  it  at  all  times,  and 
stayed  religiously  at  home  while  it  was  being  mended 
once  a  year  by  Fru  Egholm.  His  features  seemed 
erased,  with  the  exception  of  his  mouth,  which 
appeared  as  a  black  cavity  like  a  rat's  hole  in  a  white- 
washed wall.  He  stood  for  some  minutes  gaping  over 
towards  Egholm's  boat,  then  he  shambled  on  again. 
His  moribund  perceptions  had  had  their  toucli  of 
excitement,  and  that  sufficed. 


278  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

Henrik  Vang  had  settled  himself  almost  as  in  a 
cave,  half-way  up  the  slope  between  two  willow 
bushes.  Sivert,  who  had  likewise  succumbed  to 
the  prevalent  fever,  and  run  of!  from  his  glazier  work 
in  the  middle  of  a  day,  had  brought  him  down  a 
whole  case  of  beer.  The  boy  had  run  so  fast  with 
the  barrow  that  half  the  bottles  were  broken. 

"  No  harm  done  as  far  as  I'm  concerned,"  said 
Vang  solemnly  as  a  funeral  oration.  "  But  it  is  a 
pity  to  waste  good  beer." 

The  onlookers  of  the  better  class  came  up  to 
him  one  by  one,  to  shake  hands  and  dispose  of  a 
bottle  of  beer,  as  quietly  as  might  be. 

"  Why  the  devil  can't  you  come  over  to  the 
rest  of  us  ?  "  said  Rothe,  who  was  dressed  in  his 
best,  having  just  come  from  a  meeting  of  the  town 
council. 

"  Not  such  a  fool.  This  is  not  the  only  place 
where  there's  any  shade  to  cool  the  beer."  Vang 
pointed  under  one  of  the  bushes.  "  Look  there — 
might  be  in  the  garden  of  Eden." 

Henrik  Vang  himself  was  perspiring  profusely, 
out  of  anxiety  on  his  friend  Egholm's  behalf. 

"  Isn't  it  wonderful  ?  Just  look  out  there,  and 
see  it's  really  true.  There's  the  boat — the  steamer 
he's  invented.  Now,  if  I  live  to  be  a  hundred  "— 
here  he  glanced  darkly  at  Rothe — "  if  I  lived  to  be 
two  hundred,  I  could  never  invent  a  steamboat. 
Not  me." 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  279 

"  There've  been  steamboats  before,  I  fancy,"  said 
Rothe. 

"  Eh,  what  ?  "  Vang  looked  up  sharply,  and  was 
for  a  moment  at  a  loss  ;  then  he  laughed,  and  waved 
Rothe  aside  with  his  broad  paw.  "  Oh  yes,  those 
great  big  unwieldy  things,  I  know.  Any  fool  can 
make  a  thing  like  that.  But  a  little  steamboat — 
that's  another  thing  !  " 

He  caught  sight  of  Sivert  lying  flat  in  the  grass, 
dividing  his  attention  equally  between  his  father's 
manoeuvres  with  the  machinery  and  Vang's  operations 
with  the  bottles. 

"Come  up  here,  boy!"  cried  Vang,  and  Sivert 
crawled  nearer.  He  dared  not  let  himself  be  seen^ 
least  of  all  by  his  father. 

"  How  does  he  do  it  ?  "  Vang  looked  sternly, 
but  with  unsteady  gaze,  at  the  boy.  "  You  ought 
to  know.  How  does  your  father  manage  it — in- 
venting things  and  all  that  ?  " 

"  Like  this  !  "  said  Sivert,  without  a  moment's 
hesitation,  shaking  his  woolly  head  from  side  to  side 
like  a  rattle. 

"  The  devil  he  does  !  " 

"  But  it  was  me  that  invented  the  big  brass  tap 
in  the  cellar,  though.  But  then  it  was  a  very  little 
one,  really.  I  don't  think  it  was  bigger  than  there 
to  there,"  said  Sivert  modestly,  indicating  a  length 
of  Vang's  leg  from  the  ankle  to  the  middle  of  the 
thigh.     "  Look  how  it's  puffing  now  !  " 


28o  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

The  smoke  was  pouring  out  violently  from  the 
funnel  of  the  boat,  drifting  in  towards  the  onlookers 
as  a  foretaste  of  what  was  to  come.  Egholm  was 
working  away  feverishly.  Now  he  was  seen  clamber- 
ing barefooted,  with  his  trousers  rolled  up  to  the 
knee,  out  past  the  engine  to  the  bow  ;  a  moment 
later,  he  was  back  in  the  stern,  leaning  over  with 
his  sleeves  in  the  water  up  to  the  elbows,  turning  at 
the  screw,  or  baling  out  water  as  frantically  as  if  in 
peril  of  shipwreck. 

Folk  whispered  to  one  another  ;  now  he  was 
doing  so-and-so.  .  .  . 

But — what  was  this  ?  Here  was  Egholm's  girl 
Hedvig  coming  down,  with  the  youngest  child  by 
the  hand — what  did  she  want  ?  And  wearing  the 
famous  button  boots,  too — the  ones  with  ventilators 
in.  Emanuel  had  one  stocking  hanging  in  rings 
about  his  ankle. 

"  What  do  yo^l  want  ?  "  Egholm's  nose  was 
smeared  with  soot  and  oil,  and  his  brow  was  puckered 
angrily. 

"  There's  a  lady  come  to  be  taken." 

"  Tell  her  to  come  again  to-morrow." 

Egholm  gave  a  single  proud,  firm  glance  towards 
the  land.  Then  he  bent  down  again  over  his  spanner. 
The  matter  was  decided.  Hedvig  tossed  her  head, 
fished  up  Emanuel  out  of  the  sand,  and  walked 
off. 

What    legs  the  girl  had  !     But  it  was  really  in 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  281 

decent  to  go  about  like  that,  with  her  skirts  cut 
short  above  the  knee. 

"  Say  your  father's  busy — dreadfully  busy  about 
something  just  now."  Egholm  consulted  his  dead 
watch  once  more.  "Ask  if  she  can't  wait,  say,  about 
an  hour,  and  I'll  be  there  directly." 

"  Very  well." 

"  Hedvig !  "  Egholm  stood  up  and  shouted. 
*'  Who  was  the  lady  ?  " 

"  A  fine  lady,"  said  Hedvig,  angry  and  ashamed. 

"  Ask  her  to  sit  down,"  said  Egholm,  his  voice 
somewhat  faint.     "  I'll  come  directly." 

He  thrust  more  fuel  under  the  boiler,  stepped 
over  the  side,  and  waded  ashore,  with  his  boots  in 
his  hand  and  his  socks  dangling  out  of  his  pockets. 

"  You're  a  smart  one  !  "  said  Rothe,  playfully 
threatening. 

"  Very  annoying,"  said  Egholm.  "  But  I'll  be 
back  in  five  minutes'  time." 

He  thrust  his  bare  feet  into  his  boots  and  ran  up 
towards  home. 

"  We  may  as  well  go,"  said  Lange,  the  school- 
master, looking  round.  "  It  won't  come  to  anything, 
after  all." 

"  I'm  going  out  to  have  a  look  at  the  thing,  any- 
how," said  Rothe,  and  began  pulling  off  his  boots. 

"  I'm  half  a  mind  to  myself,"  said  Dr.  Hoff, 
tripping  about. 

"  Give  you  a  ride  out,  Doctor  ?  "  suggested  Rothe. 


282  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

Several  of  the  onlookers  laughed,  but  the  little 
dark  medico  accepted  the  offer  in  all  seriousness. 

And  suddenly  quite  a  number  decided  to  go  out 
and  look  for  themselves. 

Trane,  the  barber, and  schoolmaster  Lange  sat  down 
back  to  back  and  began  pulling  off  shoes  and  stock- 
ings.   Lange  put  his  hat  over  the  foot  he  bared  first. 

"  Ugh  !  "  from  one  and  then  another  as  they 
dipped  their  feet.     The  water  was  cold. 

"But  surely — it  looks  like  .  .  ."  The  Doctor 
stood  in  the  boat,  gazing  nearsightedly  at  the  engine. 
"  Surely  that's  the  lid  of  my  old  bathroom  stove — 
you  remember  I  sent  it  back  to  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  so  it  is  !  "  cried  Rothe.  "  Oho,  so  that 
was  what  he  wanted  the  old  scrap-iron  for." 

"  Have  you  noticed  the  funnel  ?  "  said  Lange. 

All  saw  at  once  that  the  funnel  was  a  milk-can 
with  the  button  knocked  out  ;  the  stays  were  made 
fast  to  the  handles  on  either  side.  Lange  laughed, 
with  chattering  teeth  ;   it  was  abominably  cold. 

"  It  makes  an  excellent  funnel,  anyhow,"  said  the 
Doctor  shortly. 

"  Suppose  the  thing  started  off  with  us  now," 
said  Trane,  measuring  the  distance  to  shore. 

"  We'd  soon  be  at  the  bottom,  in  this  rotten 
old  hulk."  Lange  pointed  to  the  water  slopping 
about  over  the  bottom  boards.  He  had  in  his 
mind  appointed  Dr.  Hoff  head  of  the  class,  and  did 
not  care  to  address  himself  to  others. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  283 

"  No  doubt,"  said  Hoff  sharply.  "  You'd  have 
preferred  him  to  start  with  mahogany  and  polished 
brass." 

Lange  turned  away  angrily  ;  it  was  distressing 
to  have  to  set  a  mental  black  mark  against  the  name 
of  his  most  promising  pupil.     But  impertinence  .  .  . 

"  Still,  a  man  need  not  be  stingy  all  round,"  said 
Trane.  He  was  thinking  of  Egholm's  bald  pate  and 
untouched  beard,  that  rendered  him  independent  of 
all  the  barbers  in  the  world. 

"  Here,  Rothe,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  Come  and 
explain  the  thing.  How's  it  supposed  to  work  ? 
I've  seen  plans  and  drawings  of  that  sort,  of  course, 
but  I  don't  mind  admitting  it's  altogether  beyond 
me." 

"  Oh,"  said  Rothe,  shrugging  his  shoulders  and 
puckering  his  brows  with  a  careless  air,  "  it's  not 
so  easy  to  explain  when  you're  not  in  the  business. 
But,  roughly^  it's  like  this.  .  .  ."  And  he  began 
setting  forth  briefly  the  principles  of  the  turbine. 

"  And  that,  of  course,  can  only  go  round  one 
way.  How  he's  ever  managed  to  get  it  to  reverse, 
the  Lord  only  knows.  There's  nothing  much  to  see 
from  the  outside." 

"  Well,  we  shall  hear  this  evening  how  it  works." 

"  Perhaps — perhaps  not.  I  shouldn't  be  too 
certain.  There's  a  heap  of  things  to  take  into 
consideration,  apart  from  what  you  might  call  the 
principle  of  the  thing." 


284  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  wouldn't  see  it,  of  course,  but  there's 
a  hundred  odd  things.  That  boiler  there,  for  instance 
— can  he  get  up  a  sufficient  head  of  steam  with  that  ? 
I  don't  believe  it.  A  turbine  wants  any  amount  of 
steam  to  drive.  If  he  got  it  fairly  going,  the  thing'd 
simply  burst.  Hark  !  how  it's  thumping  away  already. 
But  there's  no  danger  as  long  as  he's  only  got  that 
dolls'  house  grate  to  heat  it  with.  And  as  for 
the  boat" — Rothe  looked  round  to  make  sure 
that  Lange  was  out  of  hearing  ;  the  others  were 
limping  back  shiveringly  to  land—"  the  freckle- 
nosed  birch-and-ruler  merchant's  right  enough  ;  it's 
simply  falling  to  pieces  as  it  is.  Egholm,  poor 
devil,  he  got  some  odd  bits  of  tin  from  my  place 
and  patched  up  the  worst  parts,  but  the  nails  wouldn't 
hold  even  then. — Coming  off,  Doctor  ?  Here,  get 
up  again. — And  the  stuff  he's  burning's  no  better 
than  hay.  He's  been  stoking  away  for  a  couple  of 
hours  now,  and  hasn't  got  up  steam  yet." 

"  What  d'you  reckon  it  would  cost  to  make  the 
experiment  properly  ?  "  asked  the  Doctor,  with  his 
expressionless  face,  as  they  reached  dry  land  again. 

"  Oh,  any  amount  of  money.  Thousands  of 
kroner.  It's  hopeless  for  a  poor  devil  like  him  to  try. 
But,  of  course,  once  he  could  get  the  thing  to  go 
once  round  and  reverse,  why,  he  dbe  a  millionaire  !  ^^ 

Rothe  shouted  out  the  last  words  to  the  whole 
assembly  ;    then  he  hopped  across  to  Henrik  Vang's 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  285 

bush.  He  pricked  up  his  ears  at  the  murmur  that 
arose  from  his  words. 

Madam  Hermansen  had  only  just  discovered 
Vang.  Suddenly  she  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  slope 
and  gave  an  amorous  laugh. 

Vang  took  the  bottle  from  his  lips  in  the  middle 
of  a  draught,  and  the  beer  frothed  over  down  his 
vest. 

"  Get  out  !  "  he  cried,  with  horror  in  his  face. 
"  Get  out  !  "     And  he  threw  the  bottle  at  her. 

Vang  was  a  big  man  among  his  fellows  ;  but 
under  Madam  Hermansen's  glance  he  felt  himself 
naked  and  ashamed. 

Madam  Hermansen  sidled  away  in  her  polished 
clogs,  still  smiling. 

Egholm  came  back  at  a  trot,  pushing  an  old 
perambulator  full  of  coals.  He  breathed  in  relief  to 
find  that  the  crowd  was  still  there  ;  it  had,  indeed, 
increased.  The  workmen  from  the  factory  had 
come  down  to  the  beach  on  their  way  home,  and 
stood  there  now  talking  in  bass  voices,  their  eyes 
turning  ridiculously  in  their  black  faces.  The 
apprentice  lads  had  come,  too — unable  to  resist. 
They  felt  a  kind  of  primitive,  brutally  affectionate 
attraction  towards  the  boat,  which  for  some  un- 
explained reason  they  had  christened  The  Long 
Dragon.  It  was  just  the  right  distance  for  a  stone- 
throwing  target,  and  gave  a  delightful  metallic 
sound  when  hit.     They  had  used  it  as  a  bathing- 


286  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

station  while  the  weather  was  still  warm,  undressing 
in  it,  diving  in  from  it,  and  rocking  it  in  the  water 
till  the  waves  washed  up  on  the  sand.  They  heaved 
up  the  anchoring  stones,  and  sailed  out  with  it, 
shouting  and  singing,  into  deep  water,  where 
they  swam  round  it  in  flocks,  like  grampus 
about  a  whale.  They  turned  the  screw  and  made 
bonfires  under  the  boiler.  But  they  did  more  :  they 
laid  an  oar  across  from  gunwale  to  gunwale,  and 
danced  on  it  to  see  if  it  would  break.  And  found  it 
did.  They  threw  the  manometer  into  the  water  to 
see  if  it  would  float.  And  found  it  didn't.  A  pale 
youngster,  the  son  of  Worms,  the  brewer,  who  was 
not  a  factory  apprentice  at  all,  but  a  fine  gentleman 
in  the  uniform  of  the  Academy,  found  a  pot  of  paint 
under  one  of  the  seats,  and  promptly  painted  his 
name,  Cornelius,  in  red  on  the  side  of  the  boat. 

This  was  not  done  merely  in  jest,  but  by  way  of 
revenge  for  a  nasty  jagged  cut  he  had  sustained  when 
making  his  first  investigations. 

Egholm  waged  a  continual  hopeless  war  against 
those  boys.  It  was  rarely  that  he  encountered  them 
himself,  but  he  found  their  traces  frequently.  When 
he  did  happen  to  catch  one,  it  always  turned  out  to 
be  an  innocent,  who  did  not  even  know  the  others 
of  the  band. 

This  evening,  however,  in  the  presence  of  so  many 
respectable  citizens,  the  boys  stood  with  hunched-up 
shoulders  and  hands  in  their  pockets,  silent,  or  speak- 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  287 

ing  only  in  whispers.  Now  and  again  they  nudged 
one  another,  like  owls  on  a  beam  in  the  church 
tower. 

The  fire  was  being  fed  properly  now,  with  coal^ 
sending  out  a  cloud  of  smoke  like  a  waving  velvet 
banner.  There  was  a  rasp  of  filing  and  sharp  strokes 
of  a  hammer  ;  the  sound  of  iron  against  iron.  Then 
down  came  a  compositor  boy  with  the  editor's 
compliments,  and  .  .  . 

"  You  can  tell  him  I  guarantee  the  machine  will 
work  all  right.  I  guarantee  it — you  understand. 
And  .  .  ." 

"  Then  it  hasn't  gone  yet  ?  " 

"  But  you  can  see  for  yourself,"  cried  Egholm 
in  despair;  "the  pressure's  there  all  right  now." 
And,  to  prove  it,  he  sprang  up  and  pulled  at  the  little 
steam  whistle.  It  gave  a  shriek  as  if  to  call  for  help 
— then  died  away. 

"  Hark  at  the  cock-crow  !  "  shouted  Sivert,  beside 
himself.     "  The  world-famous  cock  crowing." 

"  What's  that  he's  shouting  about  ?  " 

No  one  had  understood  the  words.  But  they 
saw  the  boy  dancing  on  the  crest  of  a  hill  with  his 
white  curls  whirling  about  his  head,  and  the  en- 
thusiasm laid  hold  on  them,  too.  They  leaped  up 
from  their  mounds  of  seaweed,  and  in  the  dusk  it 
seemed  to  them  as  if  the  boat  moved.  There  was  a 
tickling  in  their  throats.  Vang  was  weeping  copiously 
already. 


288  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

"  Give  him  a  cheer,"  said  the  doctor,  moving 
from  group  to  group.  The  doctor  with  his  glasses 
was  not  to  be  contradicted. 

They  filled  their  lungs  with  air  ready  for  a  shout ; 
then  up  came  Petrea  Bisserup,  dragging  her  father 
along,  and  that  air  was  expended  in  laughter. 

Bisserup  was  a  blind  brushmaker,  who  lived  in  a 
little  white  house  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town.  He 
was  a  little  grey  man,  with  a  felt  hat  several  sizes  too 
large,  and  his  face  so  covered  with  a  fungus-growth 
of  beard  that  only  his  nose  showed  through.  His 
daughter,  who  led  him,  had  a  crooked  neck,  which 
bent  over  so  far  as  to  leave  her  head  lying  archly  on 
one  shoulder  ;  she  was  a  woman  grown,  but  wore 
short  skirts  and  cloth  shoes.  They  were  a  remark- 
able pair,  and  in  face  of  this  counter-attraction, 
Egholm's  wonder-boat  might  have  sailed  away  to 
Jutland  without  being  noticed  by  the  crowd. 

"  Ei,  ei.  .  .  .  Anything  hereabout  for  a  blind 
man  to  see  ?  " 

The  boys  from  the  factory  could  contain  them- 
selves no  longer  ;  one  of  them  barged  another  over 
against  the  old  man,  while  the  rest  chuckled  and 
cackled  and  quacked  like  a  yard  full  of  mixed  poultry. 

"  Petrea — here,  Petrea,  what  are  you  looking  at?  " 

"  Little  devils !  "  said  Trane,  gloating  over  them 
all  the  same.  Lund,  the  scientific  draper,  laughed 
too,  but  schoolmaster  Lange,  recollecting  his  lessons 
at  the  drawing  school,  shrank  back  a  little. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  289 

Petrea  strode  untroubled  through  the  crowd,  her 
mouth  hanging  open,  and  the  old  man  trailing  behind 
at  her  skirts  like  some  uncouth  goblin  child.  His 
moleskin  breeches  were  of  enormous  capacity;  the 
seat  hung  down  behind  to  his  calves.  When  he 
stood  still,  the  superfluous  folds  fluttered  in  the  wind 
like  a  rag-and-patch  tent  at  a  fair. 

"  Is't  that  way  there,  Petrea  ?  "  He  pointed 
with  his  stick,  and  leant  over,  listening. 

It  was  growing  dusk.  Folk  were  beginning  to 
shiver  a  little  in  the  evening  air.  And  there  was 
nothing  amusing  after  all  in  the  sight  of  these  two 
poor  vagrants.     What  was  the  time  ? 

When  Egholm  opened  the  furnace  door,  the 
column  of  smoke  shone  like  gold,  and  his  face  glowed 
fantastically  big  and  red.  Still  a  few  more  degrees 
were  needed  on  the  manometer — just  a  few.  He 
stoked  away,  till  the  sparks  flew  like  shooting  stars 
across  the  sky.  A  fever  seized  him  ;  he  threw  on 
coal  with  his  bare  hands,  and  found  himself  grasping 
with  all  ten  fingers  at  a  single  lump. 

Every  second  he  glanced  over  at  the  shore,  though 
it  was  impossible  to  distinguish  anything  clearly 
now. 

Trembling,  he  heard  a  burst  of  laughter,  that 
rolled  like  a  wave  along  the  line. 

"  Look  straight  ahead,  Petrea,  pretty  Petrea, 
do!" 

Heaven  be  thanked — they  were  not  laughing  at 
19 


290  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

him,  after  all.  If  only  the  coals  had  been  a  little 
better.     But  it  was  dust  and  refuse,  every  handful. 

"  Is  Dr.  Hoff  here  ?  "  someone  cried. 

"  Who's  asking  for  me  ?  " 

"  There's  a  cart  from  the  country." 

The  doctor  cast  a  final  glance  at  the  water, 
where  the  glow  from  the  fire  played  like  a  shoal 
of  red  fish  ;  then  he  walked  away  with  little  hurried 
steps. 

"  I'm  off,"  said  Lange.  ''  I  don't  see  what  there 
is  to  stand  about  here  for." 

What  was  there  to  stand  about  there  for  ?  No 
one  could  find  any  satisfactory  answer. 

It  was  dark  and  cold,  and  wife  and  supper  were 
waiting  at  home. 

The  crowd  broke  up  in  little  groups  by  common 
instinct.  Lund  and  Trane  went.  The  workmen 
from  the  factory  went.     All  of  them  together. 

Over  between  the  two  bushes  Rothe  was  giving 
orders  in  a  low  voice.  It  was  Henrik  Vang  being 
lifted  on  to  a  wheelbarrow.  Sivert  and  his  bosom 
friend,  Ditlev  Plok,  the  cobbler's  boy,  were  hauling 
each  at  one  leg.  When  they  came  up  to  the  level 
road,  Sivert  left  the  work  to  Ditlev,  and  clambered 
up  himself  beside  Vang.  The  boy  was  wild  with 
delight,  and  bubbling  over  with  laughter  and 
snatches  of  song.  Madam  Hermansen  hurried  up 
after  them. 

What  had  they  been  thinking  of  ? 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  291 

Away,  away !  homeward  ;  see,  the  lights  were 
lit  already  in  the  town. 

The  factory  boys  whistled  like  rockets,  and 
marched  in  procession  two  and  two  about  Petrea 
and  her  father. 

The  respectable  citizens  stepped  out  briskly  to 
get  warm,  and  laughed  modestly  one  to  another,  like 
peasants  emerging  from  a  conjurer's  tent. 

But  never  again  ! 

The  sound  of  footsteps  died  away  on  the  path, 
and  the  last  of  the  figures  disappeared  into  the  gloom, 
leaving  a  solitary  figure  still  waiting  on  the  beach — 
a  little  woman,  shivering  under  a  white  knitted 
kerchief.  It  was  Fru  Egholm.  No  one  had  seen  her 
come  ;  she  sat  as  if  under  a  spell,  watching  the 
myriad  sparks  that  rose  in  curves  against  the  evening 
sky,  to  fall  and  expire  in  the  sand. 


XXI 

A    FEW  weeks  have   passed.      It  is  just  after 
dawn. 

Up  on  the  beach,  Egholm  and  Sivert  are 
toiling  away  till  their  feet  are  buried  in  the  sand, 
hauling  away  at  a  rope  that  runs  through  a  square- 
cut  block  to  the  boat.  They  bend  forward  and  tug 
till  their  faces  are  fiery  red.  Then  at  last  the  Long 
Dragon  yields  and  scrapes  slowly  up  over  the  stones 
on  to  the  sand.  There  it  lies,  like  a  newly  caught 
fish,  with  a  growth  of  shell  and  weed  under  its 
belly. 

"  Now — up  with  her  !     Put  your  shoulder  to  it, 
slave  !     That's  it !     Now  up  and  bale  her  out." 

Sivert  had  discovered  that  the  water  drained  out 

of  the  boat  from  one  of  the  tin  patches,  and  found 

therefore  no  need  to  hurry,  but  followed  with  greater 

interest  his  father's  operations.     Egholm  clambered 

up  the  slope,  vanished  between  two  bushes,  and  came 

down  again  laden  with  a  sack  bigger  than  himself. 

It   was  evidently  light   in   proportion   to  its   bulk, 

since  it  could  be  carried  by  one  hand.     In  the  other 

he  held  a  bottle. 

Up  to  now,   Sivert  had  seen  only  his  father's 

293 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  293 

usual  harsh  look,  but  as  he  came  down  to  the  boat 
this  time  his  expression  changed  to  a  great  smile. 

"  Now  for  a  grand  burnt-offering,  boy  !  The 
biggest  that  ever  was  since  the  days  of  Abraham  and 
Isaac.  No;  stay  where  you  are.  I'm  not  going  to 
sacrifice  you  ;  that  wouldn't  be  much  of  a  sacrifice, 
anyway.  It's  the  boat — the  turbine.  Bale  away  ; 
we  must  have  it  thoroughly  dry." 

Sivert  splashed  about  with  the  dipper,  and  his 
father,  still  smiling,  opened  the  sack.  It  was  full 
of  shavings. 

"  A  sacrifice  and  a  burnt-offering  to  the  Lord." 

"  Wouldn't  it  work,  then — the  brass  tap  ?  " 

"  The  turbine,  you  mean  ?  Work  and  work, 
why  .  .  ."  Egholm  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Oh 
yes,  it  worked  all  right.  My  calculations  were 
right  enough.  Couldn't  be  wrong.  But  the  Lord 
wouldn't  have  it.  Didn't  suit  Him  to  let  my  little 
invention  come  out  just  now,  and  so " — again  a 
mighty  shrug  of  the  shoulders — "  so,  of  course,  I  gave 
it  up.     I  think  she'll  do  now." 

He  began  tearing  out  handfuls  of  shavings  and 
spreading  them  over  the  boat  fore  and  aft ;  they 
filled  up  beautifully  now  they  were  loose. 

"  No,"  he  went  on;  "  God  wouldn't  have  it.  I 
felt  it  while  I  was  stoking  the  fire  that  day.  The 
pressure  wouldn't  come  as  it  should,  though  I'd 
brought  down  a  whole  perambulator  full  of  coal. 
Then  at  last,  when  He  sent  away  the  crowd  that  had 


294  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

come  to  see,  I  understood — I  understood  that  He 
was  jealous  of  my  triumph  and  wouldn't  hare  it. 
Well,  He  can  have  it  now." 

Sivert  kept  carefully  to  the  opposite  side  of  the 
boat,  away  from  his  father.  It  was  safer,  he  felt, 
in  case  .  .  .  For,  despite  the  smile,  it  was  evident 
that  his  father  was  in  a  highly  excited  state.  He 
did  not  scruple  to  walk  round  from  one  side  to  the 
other  through  the  water,  with  his  boots  and  socks 
on,  though  the  waves  splashed  up  over  his  knees. 
Sivert  felt  it  would  have  been  better  to  go  round 
the  other  end  of  the  boat,  on  dry  land.  At  any  rate, 
he  preferred  that  way  himself. 

Now  for  the  bottle.  Egholm  waved  it  generously, 
sprinkling  the  paraffin  over  the  shavings  and  wood- 
work. Sivert,  too,  began  to  find  it  amusing.  Paraffin 
and  shavings — that  was  the  thing  ! 

"  Got  a  match  ?  " 

Had  he  not !  Sivert's  fingers  had  been  itching 
for  minutes  past  to  get  at  the  box. 

"  Right — then  fire  away  !  " 

Sivert  struck  a  light,  but  the  wind  blew  it  out 
at  once.  He  took  a  whole  bundle  in  his  fingers,  leaned 
in  over  the  edge  of  the  boat,  and  struck.  They 
went  off  like  tiny  shells,  sputtering  out  on  every 
side,  but  the  shavings  remained  as  dead  as  the  sand 
of  the  beach.  Once  more  he  tried  the  same  way, 
and  this  time  it  seemed  with  better  success.  There 
was    a    glow    deep    down   among    the    mass.       But 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  295 

nothing  came  of  it  save  a  smouldering  redness  that 
sent  a  thin  white  smoke  out  over  the  side.  The 
lowest  layer  of  shavings  must  have  been  wetted  by 
the  water  in  the  bottom. 

Egholm  fired  up  in  sudden  anger. 

"  Get  out  of  it,  you  Cain  !  Spoiling  my  burnt- 
offering  !  "  He  grasped  an  oar  and  struck  out  at 
the  boy. 

Sivert  slipped  aside  unscathed,  and  clambered 
up  to  the  top  of  the  slope. 

With  a  couple  of  furious  blows,  Egholm  struck 
the  oar  through  the  rotten  planks.  The  wind 
rushed  in  through  the  opening,  and  next  moment  a 
burst  of  flame  rose  several  feet  into  the  air. 

A  ship  laden  with  flames  ! 

Egholm  stood  as  if  petrified ;  then  he  began 
hurriedly  throwing  on  more  combustibles.  He  had 
a  tar  barrel  and  another  huge  sack  of  shavings, 
besides  a  whole  pile  of  dry  driftwood. 

The  funnel  stays  burned  through,  and  the  funnel 
blew  off  as  a  hat  is  torn  from  a  man's  head. 

The  tar  barrel  lay  on  a  thwart,  spewing  green 
flame  from  its  mouth.  The  sides  had  caught  already. 
Egholm  took  up  an  armful  of  crackling  dry  weed  and 
threw  it  in.  As  he  did  so,  he  happened  to  catch 
sight  of  the  little  manometer,  and  he  sprang  back 
in  dismay.  The  indicator  had  worked  round  as  far 
as  it  could,  and  stood  firmly  pressed  against  the 
stopping-pin. 


296  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

God  in  Heaven  !  He  had  forgotten  the  water 
in  the  boiler !  Another  second  and  it  would 
burst  ! 

True,  that  mattered  little,  since  the  boat  and  all 
its  contents  were  to  be  sacrificed.  Nevertheless, 
Egholm  picked  up  the  oar  and  thrust  it  here  and 
there  among  the  flames,  trying  to  open  some  valve  or 
other.  He  had  not  reckoned  on  a  bursting  boiler, 
which  would  be  out  of  place,  to  say  the  least,  in  a 
burnt-offering.  He  flung  his  coat  about  his  face  to 
shield  him  from  the  flames,  and  stabbed  blindly  with 
his  oar. 

Suddenly  the  burning  boat  seemed  to  shiver. 
Egholm  dropped  his  oar  and  sprang  back,  expecting 
to  see  the  whole  thing  explode.  .  .  . 

When  he  turned  round,  he  saw  a  strange  sight. 
The  screw  was  revolving  at  a  furious  rate,  just 
touching  the  surface,  and  flinging  up  a  hail  of  salt 
water  against  the  wind. 

He  stooped  forward,  bending  low  down,  his 
mouth  agape  with  overwhelming  astonishment. 
This  was  more  of  a  marvel  than  anything  he  had 
seen.  He  had  lied  when  he  said  the  thing  had 
worked  all  right  the  first  time.  At  any  rate,  he  knew 
nothing  of  how  it  had  worked  himself.  He  had 
simply  had  some  parts  made  according  to  his  own 
idea,  and  screwed  them  together.  Now,  he  could 
hear  the  turbine  whirring  round,  saying  dut-dut, 
just  as  he  had  dreamed. 


EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD  297 

It  only  remained  to  see  if  it  would  reverse.  Could 
he  reverse  the  steering-gear  in  all  that  flame  and 
smoke  ?  It  would  have  to  be  done  swiftly — swiftly 
— for  in  a  moment  the  boiler  would  be  empty. 

He  worked  and  wriggled  away  with  the  oar, 
unheeding  the  fire  that  singed  his  beard  and  eye- 
brows. When  this  proved  fruitless,  he  wrapped  wet 
seaweed  thickly  round  his  arm  and  thrust  it  into  the 
flames. 

He  had  found  it  now,  though  in  agonising  pain. 
Then — the  screw  stood  still  a  moment,  and  whirled 
round  the  opposite  way.  Egholm  could  feel  the 
water  spurting  up  towards  him  now.  It  soothed  his 
burns.  He  stood  still,  close  up  to  the  boat,  and 
wept. 

Sivert  sat  up  on  the  slope,  watching  it  all.  His 
father  called  to  him  to  come  down. 

"  D'you  see  that  ?  "  he  cried.  Despite  the  grime 
and  the  red  burns,  his  face  wore  a  look  of  supreme 
exaltation.     "  D'you  see  that  ?  " 

"  She's  puffing  away  finely,"  Sivert  admitted. 

Just  then  something  snapped  inside,  and  the 
engine  stopped.  Egholm  ran  for  more  weed  to  wrap 
round  his  arm,  but,  before  he  was  ready,  the  ex- 
plosion came.  The  sound  was  scarcely  heard  in  the 
gale,  only  a  slight  fouf^  but  it  split  the  boat  length- 
ways like  a  ripe  pea-pod. 

Egholm  looked  on,  delighted. 

"  D'you  know  what  I  think  ?  "    he  said,  cooling 


298  EGHOLM  AND  HIS  GOD 

his  martyred  hand.  "  I  think,  my  boy,  we've  done  a 
great  thing  to-day.  We've  made  a  great  burnt- 
offering  unto  the  Lord.  But  more  than  that. 
We've — ^yes,  in  a  way,  we've  heaped  coals  of  fire  on 
His  head  r' 


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DATE  DUE 

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